


When In Rome

by MissMechanicalHeart



Series: John Wick [2]
Category: John Wick (2014), John Wick (2017), John Wick - Fandom, John Wick: Chapter 2
Genre: Action, Alcohol, Assassins, Blood, Boogeyman - Freeform, Crime, Crime Lords, Death, Debts, Desire, F/M, Gangs, Guns, Hotels, Knives, Language, Loss, Love, Pencil, Rescue, Revenge, Sexual Situations, Slight freeform, Violence, Weapons, bunch of blood, clubs, marker, on-the-run, safe-houses, tasks, vengeance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-13
Updated: 2017-03-08
Packaged: 2018-09-24 04:48:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 42,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9702962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissMechanicalHeart/pseuds/MissMechanicalHeart
Summary: "The man... the myth... the legend."He's back!About a year after dealing with the Tarasovs, John tries to return to normalcy. However, an old debt ropes him back into the world he tried years to bury.Meanwhile, China is trying to start her life over after the previous year. Of course, though,  she is dragged right back into the underworld with -- surprise, surprise -- the infamous John Wick.Note: I do not own John Wick, even though that would be amazing! (Spoilers ahead to those of you who have not seen it yet!) Also, this story contains mature content.





	1. Night One:

**Author's Note:**

> Oh my gosh! Just saw John Wick Saturday! I had to sit on the front row because it was so crowded. Let me tell you, I could feel every gunshot in my soul due to the ear-blasting volume. And his car... my gosh! I thought a freaking jaguar was going to leap out of my body at any moment! The movie was... I can't even! I could hardly control myself, for I geeked out hard! It was so good that I'm planning on seeing it again, hopefully! And that soundtrack -- beautiful and haunting. Perfect for setting the mood for all the darkly beautiful kill scenes. And all the man candy!  
> Anyway, this is book 2 of John Wick fanfiction! I am so excited to be starting this journey again. Sorry it's a little late!  
> The events happen about a year after the first movie. I know in the movie it's a couple of days, but for the sake of this fanfiction, I'm gonna do it about a year afterwards. As a compromise, I did go back and change the gender and the name of the dog. He is now referred to as pup or dog until John finally decides to name him. Due to my so-so memory, the lines will not be completely accurate. I may go back and edit it in the future when I get it on DVD.  
> Anyway, here it is.  
> Song: "Escape" by 30 Seconds to Mars.  
> Time to escape  
> The clutches of a name  
> No, this is not a game  
> (It's just the beginning)  
> I don't believe in fate  
> But the bottom line, it's time to pay  
> You know you've got it coming  
> This is war
> 
>  
> 
> Let me know what you guys think! Thank you for the lovely reviews!

            The rain was relentless when I finally returned home with my battered car. Once I eased it into the garage and cut the engine, I patted the dashboard and murmured, “We’ve had worse.”

            I lowered my hand to the glove compartment and took out an envelope. Inside, there was a birthday card, one I had shoved in the compartment a long time ago. Opening the card, I gazed at the single photograph inside. It had been our day out when the picture was taken.

            Helen had been feeling the effects of the disease. Sensing her gloom, I had wanted to put a smile on her face, so I took her for a ride on the boat. Her face was captured in a pose of pure joy, eyes squinted and a broad smile. I hardly paid any attention to myself in the picture, for I was too enamored by her laughing face.

            Lifting the picture, I gently kissed her image before placing it back in the envelope. I closed the garage upon exiting the car and went inside.

            Upon entering the house, I was greeted by the pup – well, I guess he’s gotten a little too big to be considered a pup.

            “Hey, boy,” I said, bending down slightly to pet him. His brown eyes glanced up at me as he sloppily licked his lips.

            He’s probably hungry by now. I poured him some dog food, and he instantly began munching away. I lowered myself wearily beside him, patting his back. “Good dog,” I breathed. My head reclined against the wall with a small sense of relief. Perhaps this is all over.

            “ _Enjoy your retirement, Mr. Wick_.” Abram Tarasov’s words echoed in my head, giving me an uneasy feeling.

            Shaking the thought from my mind, I stumbled down the halls of the house. They’ve never seemed as gloomy as they do now as the raindrops cast shadows resembling miniature waterfalls over the plain, white walls. This grand, spacious mansion only houses an ex-assassin and his dog. Seems rather pathetic.

            I took a shower, allowing for the events of the past year to hit me full force. Helen collapsing in my arms; Daisy’s limp form; Iosef destroying my house and taking my car; dealing with the Tarasovs and their men; Marcus’s death; and China.

            I blinked from my stupor as the name and her face crossed my mind. Smoothing the water from my hair, I exhaled a breath that seemed to have been trapped for eternity.

            _It’s been a hell of a year_.

            Settling in for the night, I released a sigh. I patted the space next to men, and the pup didn’t hesitate to jump up and settled himself. My eyes closed, and I hoped for at least a few hours of sleep.

 

            I woke around seven, realizing I had things I needed to do. I decided it would have to wait until later, for I wanted to postpone it for as long as possible. Instead, the issue of my car rose, taking the position of current priority. I dialed an old friend to see if he could take a look at it. If anyone could revive it, it would be him.

            In the meantime, I decided to wait outside, finding the house slightly suffocating. So, I found myself throwing a ball for the pup before he would trot towards me to bring it back. How easily amused we both are.

            We did this cycle until a black truck pulled into my driveway. I turned away from the dog just in time to catch the visitor hopping out of the truck.

            He always did have a thing for monster trucks.

            “Quite a peaceful place you have,” he spoke as he walked towards me.

            I let a small smile grace my lips in greeting as I took his outstretched hand. “Hey, Aurelio.”

            “Hey, John. It’s good to see you.” He glanced around. “So, where is she?”

            I walked over to the scrap that was once my prized car, gesturing towards it.

            “Jeez, John. I thought you loved this car,” he hissed, coming closer to inspect the car.

            I inwardly flinched, brushing off his statement. “So, do you think you can fix it?”

            Aurelio plowed his fingers through his slicked back hair. “Well, she’s a bit bent up. And, I don’t know it you noticed, but you got a crack in your windshield.”

            Both of our eyes landed on the horrid windshield.

            A scoff left Aurelio’s lips. “Of course I can.”

            Smirking at his response, I said, “Thanks for helping me find her.”

            The words had a double meaning, and I knew by the look in his eyes that he knew.

            I was initially surprised when I found out that Aurelio was still alive. After all, _she_ had seen him die. In this world, one could never assume one was dead.

            Aurelio unconsciously rubbed the spot just over his right breast – the spot where he had been shot. Apparently Perkins had terrible aim.

            He seemed as if he was going to say something, but he thought better of it. “No problem.”

            I started to walk off before I heard him call, “Expect it by Christmas 2030.”

            Shaking my head, I continued inside with the dog.

            A few hours ticked by before the evening began to settle in. I couldn’t put if off any longer.

            I went to my bedroom and gathered the discarded clothes from my venture from last night. I placed them all in a black bag a long with my weapons and accessories.

            Opening the basement door, I found myself frozen at the top of the stairs as a feeling of déjà vu swept over me. The dog gazed up at me, cocking its head to the side.

            Inhaling slowly, I began to trudge down the stairs. When I came to the bottom, I took in the mess for the first time in a year. I hadn’t been down here since the night that I prepared to go after Viggo’s son. Consequently, this was the first time I truly took it in.

            The stone debris of the floor was piled all around the hole that contained that dreaded case – the same case I had spent years hoping it would stay buried.

            I knelt down, taking out the items from the bag. I took the time to place each one in its rightful spot; it’s ridiculous how meticulous I still am. I finally closed the trunk and shoved it back into the hole.

            Before long, I found myself brushing as much debris as I could into the hole. I then began the task of sealing it up. With each swipe, I hoped that this floor would never have to be dug up again.

            It was a few hours later that I finished, although it only felt like minutes to me. I leaned back on my knees as my eyes traced over the work. The dog sat by my side, ever mimicking my actions.

            Suddenly, the doorbell’s jingle sounded throughout the house, reaching the basement. The dog’s ears perked up as both of our gazes shot towards the stairs.

            As I came up to walk towards the door, I couldn’t help but feel a foreboding sense of doom. I could make out a single silhouette through the censored glass door.

            Hesitantly, my hand reached out to grasp the door before I pulled it open. Standing on my own porch was a man that I hadn’t – nor wanted to have – seen in many years. I seem to be breaking that habit lately by dumb luck.

            Santino D’Antonio had a smile that didn’t quite meet his greenish brown eyes. “Ciao, John.”

            “Santino.”

            He asked if he could come in, to which I agreed. He crossed the threshold, and I began to shut the door. Before I did, I noticed a young woman with short hair and clad in a suit was returning my gaze. There was a look in her eyes that every new generation assassin had in his or her eye – naïve arrogance.

            I shut the door and turned towards Santino. “Café?” I offered.

            He seemed hesitant before agreeing. I gestured for him to make himself comfortable in the living room before starting for the kitchen.

            As I walked into the kitchen, I briefly noticed how not-lived-in it had gotten. Helen use to always keep the basket on the bar stocked full of various fruits. Now, everything in the kitchen was just the bare minimum.

            I began to make the coffee, realizing I hadn’t had a cup in a long time. The need for it lately had been replaced with… other habits.

            “It’s a beautiful home you have, John.”

            His small talk skills were deplorable. Then again, I wasn’t much of a talker in general.

            “Thank you,” I replied.

            “And the dog. Does he have a name?”

            A jolt shot through me as I recalled Daisy’s lifeless form. “No,” I managed to voice. I wasn’t sure if the reply was an answer or a cry from remembering.

            I hurried into the living room with the coffee in hand. I found him studying the mantle with pictures of Helen and me. I noticed that his eyes fell on an object in his hand.

            My body tensed when I realized it was the pocket watch _she_ had given me all those years ago. It was open, revealing the part of it with a picture of Marcus and an adolescent China.

I forced my features to remain indifferent as he turned to face me.

“Forgive me. It’s a beautiful antique. If I recall correctly, I remember Marcus having one just like it.” His slight smile told me that he knew it was Marcus’s. He traded the pocket watch for a cup of coffee.

Watching him sit, I pocketed the trinket in my jeans before joining him at the table.

“I heard about Marcus’s death. Tis a shame, for he was always dependable. I understand you two were rather close.”

I didn’t reply.

“I was sorry to hear about your wife’s passing.”

I was tired of his small talk. I had better things to do than listen to him hammer in stakes. “Why are you here?” I asked, cutting to the chase with as much patience as I had left.

Santino pursed his lips. “Know I say this with a heavy heart, John. I need you, John.”

Knowing where this was headed, I shook my head. “Please. Don’t.”

Ignoring my statement, he continued. “I need you to kill someone.”

“Why me?”

He reached into his coat pocket before pulling out that damn silver trinket. “Because you owe me, John.”

“I’m retired,” I countered.

“Your retirement,” he scoffed, gesturing around the room. “All of this is because of me. If I hadn’t had a hand in your ‘impossible task’, then none of this would be possible.” He shrugged. “So, in part, half of this belongs to me,” he finished with a grin.

How I wanted to knock that grin off of his face.

            “I need you, John,” he continued. “This task is… a sensitive matter.”

            “What do you want me to do?” I asked warily, testing the waters.

            “I want you to kill my sister,” he said without missing a beat. He didn’t blink or flinch as he said it, letting me know he was deadly serious.

            “You want me to kill your sister… Gianna D’Antonio,” I repeated slowly.

            “Like I said, it’s a sensitive matter.”

“I’m asking you to take it back,” I stated.

            Growing impatient, Santino flicked the trinket open, revealing a bloodied finger print that had been perfectly preserved despite the time. “That’s your blood, John. You know as well as I that this bond is sealed by blood. I need you to do this task.”

            “I’m not that guy anymore,” I tried again.

            “You’re always that guy. You really think you could have just dabbled in this world and jump back out?” He shook his head. “You know the rules if you don’t do this. You know the consequences.”

“I can’t help you,” I said, sliding the trinket back to Santino. My statement held finality. I would not be persuaded. For crying out loud, I already sealed up that floor.

Santino lowered his eyes, scooping up the coin and sliding it into his pocket. “Very well. I hope you enjoy your retirement.” His tone held a hint of disdain as he stood to show himself out.

Several minutes went by, and I just sat there. I finally moved to my feet, but no sooner had I done so, I heard a faint whizzing. It was brief as it crescendoed. By the time I realized what it was, it was too late.

I was propelled violently into the air and thrown through a window by the force of the explosion. Several more followed. Due to the impact, my body was briefly stunned. Through my ringing ears, I managed to hear a whining sound as something moist nudged my face.

Heat licked my skin, and I forced myself to move. My eyes rose to find my house in flames. I watched as the pictures of Helen and me were devoured by the fire.

Rage seized me, and the need for vengeance consumed me. Somehow, I managed to push it aside, finding myself outside with the dog. We both stood before the burning structure, watching as the flames destroyed everything I had worked for.

It wasn’t long before I found myself waiting by the fire truck as the men tried to put out the fire. I didn’t dare look at the final result, for I knew I would lose what composure I had left upon doing so.

“Hey, John.”

I barely glanced up at the young police officer. “Hey, Jimmy.”

“Gas leak?”

I had to clench my jaw before muttering, “Yeah.”

“You working again?”

That same question.

Instead of replying, I rose to my feet, waving for the dog to follow. “See ya, Jimmy.”

As I walked, I thought I heard him sigh, “Shit.”

_Indeed_.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

            It had been a long, slow day. The chance of rain from yesterday still loomed over the city, making it a bad day to be in business. As a result, I had busied myself with cleaning the already spotless bakery.  

            The smell of fruity cleaning products still wafted through the air, even though I had cleaned the checkered floors hours ago. The windows were spotless on both sides. The tables were practically gleaming under the fluorescent lightening. All the machines were cleaned and powered down, for I had given up after making four batches of each pastry. Without the hum of the machines, I was able to hear everything within the vicinity despite the music softly pouring out of the radio beside me.

            I could hear the occasional slam of a car door and the clicking of heels on the pavement just outside the shop. I could hear the honking of cars on the streets. If I listened closely, I could even hear the occasional creak of the very building I was in.

            Now it’s come to the point where I’m counting the number of tiles on the ceiling. Boredom has never been more real. I already mastered the floor tiles, counting two more times just to make sure I was right. I came up with about 156 of the one foots tiles. I was almost finished counting the tiles when the bell above the door jingled.

            My eyes flicked towards the door, a sense of brief excitement washing over me. When I saw who it was, it diminished, and I instantly regretted the disappointment in my response.

            I masked my expression as I turned to see Alex (a local businessman that made it a habit to stop by the shop every morning) enter with a broad smile as his blue eyes landed on me. “Hello, hello,” he practically sang, drumming his hands along the counter as he came to stand on the other side of it.

            “Hello,” I replied, smiling slightly at his boyish behavior.

            He glanced around the empty shop. “So, I take it business has been booming today.”

            I shot him a look, resulting in a chuckle on his part.

            He held his hands up in mock surrender. “Hey, don’t give me that look. After all,” he started, reaching into his coat to pull out a rose. “My intentions are innocent.”

            I slowly took the rose from him. I forced a smile, knowing to Alex it would seem genuine.

            I really shouldn’t be so hard on him. After all, how is he supposed to know that I dislike roses when I won’t give him the chance to learn?

            Quirking a brow, I asked, “Innocent intentions? What do you propose?”

            “Well, I couldn’t help but notice that you’re a little unoccupied – correct me anytime if I’m wrong. Therefore, I can’t help but feel happy that my plan is off to a good start.”

            “Plan?”

            “Yes, I plan on taking you to dinner.”

            The temptation to decline was on the tip of my tongue. However, this would be the third time I blew him off.

            I glanced around the empty shop before turning toward Alex’s awaiting gaze.

            The corner of his lips tipped up. “What say you?”

            My answer was hesitant, but it was only the length of a blink. “Yeah, of course. I mean, I – I have to close the shop first, but yeah.”

            His grin widened. “All right. Do you want me to come back and pick you up once you’ve changed?”

            A part of me should have been agitated at the question. Yet, I could understand. I knew my wavy hair was probably shooting out in squiggles, messily framing my face. My clothes weren’t exactly worthy of a date, although my top was rather nice – or so I believed when I put it on this morning. Plus, I wanted a brief reprieve to mentally prepare myself.

            “That’ll be nice.”

            “So,” he trailed off to look at his watch. “It’s about seven-fifteen. Eight-thirty ok?”

            I nodded.

            He snapped his fingers. “Great. Eight-thirty.”

            “See you then,” I called, watching as he left with a beaming smile on his lips.

            Letting out a slow breath, I began to gather up the sweets from the warmer, boxing them all up. The beggars would probably have diabetes after tonight. Placing the box to the side, I began wiping down everything. By the time I finished, it was almost eight.

            I slipped into the backroom where I kept a stash of clothing. My options were rather limited, and I wasn’t going to wear a dress or a hoodie. Consequently, I was left with only one more option.

            Ten minutes later, I flicked my eyes up to the mirror. I wore a white, long-sleeved-off-the-shoulders top that billowed out towards the end, dark blue skinny jeans, and a pair of black suede ankle boots with silver buckles. I ran a brush through my hair, thankfully resulting in the unruly waves doing as they were supposed to.  

I debated make-up, scowling at my reflection. “This is ridiculous,” I murmured.

Then, the voice of reason kicked in. How I hated it. It reminded me that I needed to go on this date. I need to get out. Most people my age are already settling down and having kids.

_But what if I don't want that with Alex?_ My scowl deepened at the thought.

I snapped myself out of my internal debate. “A little couldn’t hurt,” I finally compromised with myself, reaching for the mascara and a tube of red lipstick.

Taking one last glance at the mirror, I decided to squirt a bit of my perfume. It wasn’t loud. In fact, it was the same volume and smell as my pomegranate-scented shampoo. Not too noticeable, but noticeable enough if one got close enough. Shaking the remnants of nerves off, I finally stepped back into the dining area to wait for Alex.

My heels clicked against the tiled floor as I went behind the counter. Squatting down, I bent crawled beneath the counter to grab my wallet. As I did so, my eyes drifted to the gun that was hidden behind a receipt book.

_Couldn’t hurt._ I paused as my hand encircled the butt of the gun. _Come on, China. It’s just a date._ But when has dating _ever_ gone right for me?

My thoughts were interrupted as my ears picked up a pair of heavy boots walking across the floor. The noise startled me, and I didn’t move from my position. My heart accelerated as I heard more footsteps join the first pair.

_Definitely not Alex_. The doorbell didn’t even ring.

I slid farther beneath the counter; I was thankful that I had moved spare boxes out from under it the other day.

“Check the backroom and the bathroom,” I heard a male voice say.

Robbery? No, they would have already hit the register.

The footsteps drifted as they neared the rooms.

A few moments passed before I heard the boots sound again, signaling their return.

“No she’s not-”

The words were cut short as they became a gargle. Gunshots began to pierce the air. Heavy thuds against the floor followed. Eventually, there was one last gargled cry before there was silence.

My ears strained to make out any sound over the sound of my own hammering heart. The silence was almost deafening, especially since my ears were still recovering from the back-to-back gunshots.

Finally, I heard it. Footsteps. They were almost too faint to hear. And, they were coming closer to the counter.

_Shit, shit, shit_!

_Ok, get it together, China_ , I internally commanded myself. I briefly racked my mind, trying to remember how many pairs of footsteps I had heard. Eight. How many thuds? Eight. Ok, ok. That meant there was probably only one person I was dealing with.

I glanced down at the gun in my hand. I had at least seven – that’s six more chances if I miss the first time – bullets in the magazine.

As the footsteps became louder, I closed my eyes briefly, trying to pinpoint exactly where they were coming from.

Inhaling quietly, my heart beat once before I darted out, gun aimed at the last location I had pinpointed the footsteps to be. Without blinking, I fired…

            _Click_. Nothing.

            Before my mind could think the expletive, my heart stopped as my eyes rose to the figure. My breath was caught in my throat as I took in the ebony hair with stray strands that seemed to curtain his face; a dingy, white shirt with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows and dark pants that seemed to fit him perfectly; a cut up face that somehow seemed to still appear ruggedly handsome; before finally meeting a pair of piercing brown eyes that would make anyone believe they were black upon first looking at them.

            John Wick.


	2. Day Two:

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, hello!  
> As promised, this is chapter two. I can't even tell you how excited I still am about doing this fanfiction. Your comments and reviews just add to that excitement. I mean, I was surprised to see that just the first chapter already had like eighteen kudos. That's just... wow!  
> I can't thank you guys enough for your support!  
> The next chapter will probably be up within the next three days if all goes according to plan.  
> Please continue to comment and let me know what you all think! Thank you for your support!
> 
> The song for this chapter is "Dissolved Girl" by Massive Attack:  
> "Cause it feels like I've been  
> I've been here before  
> And you're not my savior  
> But I still don't go  
> Feels like something  
> That I've don't before  
> I could fake it  
> But I still want more"  
> ______________________________________________________________________________________________

            John Wick.

            The name rang through my head as I felt like I was emerging out of cold water. My lungs constricted as I tried to take in air. All I could do was gaze at him with wide eyes, feeling like a deer caught in headlights. My heart began to beat again, hammering its way to the beat of a hummingbird’s heart.

            It’s been a year since I last saw him. The last time I had seen him was before I had found Dad dead. I remember talking to John about where we would go next with our lives. After that, I remember calling him when Viggo made me. Aside from that, I would get snippets of memories: the sensation of being in John’s arms and fragmented words. Needless to say, I wasn’t sure if those memories were real or just something I dreamed up.

            John’s lips were tipped into a slight frown. It was at the moment that I noticed that there were a few crimson stains on his white shirt. In fact, his white shirt seemed as if it had been through an ash pit.

            One of his hands rose, and I froze, fighting the instinct to flinch away. I watched him carefully, unsure of what his intentions were. To my surprise, he simply reached for the gun, barely brushing his hand against mine, and flicked the safety off.

            His eyes never left mine as he did the action. “It works better with the safety off,” he finally voiced.

            I didn’t speak. Instead, my grip tightened on the gun, my knuckles blanching with the action. The urge to quake before him fought for dominance, but I refused to let him see me like that. If he was here to kill me, I wouldn’t go down without a fight.

            He ignored my wariness, eyes darting down to the red rose that I had left on the counter. It seemed then that he finally noticed my apparel, for his eyes narrowed slightly as they flitted across my clothes.

            “Going somewhere?” he nonchalantly asked, quirking a brow.

            My eyes narrowed. “Why are you here?” I asked, ignoring his question.

            “I was in the neighborhood,” he said. His gaze swept across the dead bodies, and my eyes followed to take in the scene. Blood splattered the white walls and checkered floors (I hope there’s no surprise inspection any time soon). “Fortunately,” he added.

            “Well, we’ve said our hellos. I’m expecting someone,” I said in a dismissive tone.

            “I hope he wasn’t one of them,” he muttered, nudging one of the men with his shoe.

            I couldn’t help but rake my eyes over the men, half expecting to see Alex’s face upon the body count. It definitely wouldn’t surprise me. My expression remained unchanged as I discovered that Alex wasn’t among them.

            “What are you doing here, John? I know it’s not to drop in to say hello. You’re a year too late for that.”

            He pulled out a chair from one of the tables, easing himself into it. “You assume the worst.”

            Rolling my eyes, I commented, “Force of habit lately.”

            “I came to check up on you.”

            “Bull.” The statement rolled off my tongue before I could censure it. My expression softened when I noticed a dog hovering at the window. His gaze watched John through the glass. I lowered the gun as I rounded the corner. I warily stepped over the bodies, careful to avoid stepping in blood. Hopping over a puddle, I placed the gun on the table as I walked towards the door.

            “He’s with you?” I asked, hand on the handle.

            Single nod from John.

            In response, I opened the door, waving for the dog to come in. Instead, he just sat at the threshold. His ears raised slightly, a whine escaping him as he glanced at John, almost as if he was asking for permission. John gestured, and the dog quickly sprang into action before taking a seat by his master’s feet.

            My eyes flicked towards the clock to find that it was eight-ten. Hopefully Alex wouldn’t be one of those guys that wanted to impress the girl by showing up really early. I began to pace around the dead bodies in a nervous state as I tried to figure out how to get rid of them – how to get rid of John.

            I began to plow my fingers through my hair but froze when I glanced up. Both John and his dog had been watching me pace back and forth. Before I could speak, I heard the door swing open.

            I didn’t turn right away, choosing to try to judge John’s reaction. Of course, John didn’t give any hint as to who was behind me, for his expression was composed.

            “What the fuck?!” I heard someone exclaim behind me.

            I slowly turned to find Alex standing in the doorway. He was dressed in a blue dress shirt and black slacks, and his blonde hair was styled in neat spikes. His blue eyes narrowed in astonishment as he took in the scene. I could only imagine what must be running through his mind right now.

            “I can explain,” I drew out, turning towards John for help. He simply looked at me, amusement etched on his face as he waited to see how I was going to explain this situation.

            _Son of a bitch._

“You best start talki-”

            His words were silenced as a several bullets pierced the glass, hitting Alex in the side of his head and his back. Due to our proximity, his blood sprayed my white shirt and my cheek. I was hardly able to process the moment before I was yanked away from behind. I landed on the floor as John flipped over the table he had just previously sat at.

            “Stay.” I wasn’t sure if the command was for me or the dog, and John didn’t elaborate as he grabbed up my gun and began firing away.

            The dog was ballistic, barking like mad before cowering near me. He tried to cover his ears with his paws, leading me to believe that despite his size, the dog must still be a puppy. The dog hopped into my lap, and my arms instinctively wrapped around him, holding him tight to me as I craned my neck to watch the scene unfold.

            Men dressed in all black kept pouring into the shop one by one. John, never wasting a bullet, managed to take out seven of them before he found that the gun was out of bullets. He threw the useless gun at one of the men, stalling just long enough to catch another man off guard with a kick to his knees. He managed to disarm the man before killing him with his own gun. Each death was dealt differently, and I was reminded once again at how he seemed like the Angel of Death. The bodies kept piling up until there was no one left.

            When it was all over, John stood in the center of the carnage, absorbing the sight he had created. The scene seemed so natural – Death in the circle of his own destruction.

            John’s gaze moved towards me, and I was unable to move as his sable eyes bore into mine. If the dog wasn’t in my arms, I would have probably shivered under his cold scrutiny. I spoke too soon. The dog hopped out of my arms, trotting to stand beside his master. _Traitor_.

            In an attempt to escape the center of John’s attention, I moved to my feet. I forced my eyes away from John’s as I walked closer to Alex’s body. Even though I didn’t feel anything for him, I couldn’t help but feel guilty. He still didn’t deserve to be caught up in this mess; he didn’t deserve to die because he was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

I could feel John’s eyes on me as I reached down to close Alex’s eyes. The blood that poured from his head tainted my hands. I couldn’t help the humorless laugh that escaped my lips. “Well,” I started, wiping my bloodied hands on my pants as I stood, “there goes my date.”

            “You’ve never liked roses anyway,” he murmured.

            My eyes lifted to find that cold light slowly fading. Still, it was a cruel, callous thing to say. What’s worse is that rather than being taken off guard by his statement, I was more surprised because John remembered that I hated roses.

            “Of course. Just another casualty to you. Nothing major,” I muttered in a sardonic tone.

            John was silent for a moment, and I almost thought that he didn’t hear me; he probably just chose not to. “We need to go.”

            “We?” I asked incredulously.

            He reached across the counter, grabbing my car keys off the hook behind the register. “There will be more soon,” he went on, grasping my upper arm to tug me along. The dog kept up with John’s long strides. I, however, had to get use to it all over again.

            I was briefly reminded of the time John had dragged me away from Sam at the station. He had done the same thing when I saw him for the first time in ten years, unintentionally saving me from Iosef’s romantic pursuits at the Red Circle. Both situations had been possible routes that would’ve gone horribly wrong if John hadn’t intervened. It made me wonder if Alex had been another possible interest that would have led to doom. Had John saved me from another, or was Alex just an average guy? I would never know.

            John opened the passenger door for me and the back door for the dog before going over to get in the driver’s seat of my 1995 Ford Explorer. It wasn’t glamorous, for some days the car proudly accepted the title Ford _Exploder_. Despite its flaws, it was mine.

Seeing John in the driver’s seat seemed entirely misplaced, considering I was use to seeing him in his mustang and other fancy cars. Nevertheless, John revved the engine as if it was his mustang.

            I had almost forgotten that John is the worst-best driver in the universe. I barely managed to buckle up before John shot off as if he was off to the races. My nails dug into the leather armrest as I tried to keep my breathing steady. Meanwhile, the poor pup was sliding back and forth in the backseat.

            We had only gotten a few miles from the shop before I noticed flames billowing up into the sky in the rearview mirror. I spun around to glance out of the back window. My heart flopped to my stomach as I realized the explosion was coming from my shop. The very shop that I opened up in memory of my dad; the same shop that I used all of my savings on buying and opening because I refused to touch a dime of Dad’s money.

            Tears welled in the corner of my eyes as I slowly turned away from the window to settle in my seat. It was a stupid thing to get choked up over, but I couldn’t help it. It had been a rough year, and starting a business wasn’t easy. I worked, putting all my time into expanding the shop into what it was. It wasn’t anything extraordinary, but I felt proud of it because it was my only link to possibly achieving some sense of normalcy.

            I knew John was probably watching my expression from the corner of his eye, which strengthened my resolve to not cry. I managed to keep the tears at bay, choosing to distract myself by pretending that I was interested by the passing view.

            Through what felt like a mouthful of cotton, I voiced, “Where are you taking me?”

            No answer at first. Before long, the silence stressed, and I realized he wasn’t going to answer. In the past, I might have just accepted his silence, but I was upset. Consequently, his silence was riling me up to annoyed-pissed level.

            “I think I at least deserve that much.” My voice came out slightly hoarse, and it was calmer than I would have liked it to be.

            A sigh silently left him. “Continental.”

            _Not that place again_. I exhaled, massaging my head. “Look, you can have the car. I would just like to go home. Will you please take me home?”

            “It’s not safe.”

            “I’ve kept it as off the radar as humanly possible. It’s not even in my name. It’s in one of Dad’s fake names. He left me the ranch house before…” I stopped as a lump rose in my throat, ceasing any other words I might have said.

            He responded to my action with silence. Finally, he spoke again, his voice so low that I almost thought it was my imagination. “It’s not safe.”

            Knowing it wouldn’t do any good to argue, I sank into my seat. The car ride soon became rather relaxing as John’s driving became less nerve-wracking. Of course, he was still driving a hundred miles over the speed limit, but I found that the speed was rather refreshing. As crazy as it sounds, the fast pace actually seemed to help me clear my mind of everything. I decided that for the time being, I wouldn’t think about anything. Instead, I focused on the rising sun and wondered if the coming day would make things worse.

            The quiet ride came to an end all too quickly as John pulled in next to the curb next to the hotel’s entrance. We were greeted by a valet as soon as we all stepped out. I noticed that the valet did a double take at John before his wide eyes fell on the beat-up Ford Explorer.

            _He didn’t mean it Bessie May_ , I thought as the young valet stepped into the car.

            John entered the hotel with the dog and me following closely behind. The hotel looked the same as it did the last time I saw it. All the same, it still had its charms: old yet modern – simple yet elegant.

            The same desk manager stood with a tall posture, glancing up from his typing as we approached the counter. Did he really stand behind that desk all the time? I briefly entertained the thought that he must have leg muscles of steel by now.

            “I’d like to speak to the manager,” John spoke in his gruff timbre.

            “How good to see you so soon, Mr. Wick. Shall I announce you?” Despite the words, the man’s expression didn’t quite mirror them. I guess that’s what joy looks like.

            “Yes, please.”

            John turned towards his dog and me. “Stay.”

            I raised a brow. He mimicked the action. His features dared me to challenge him. When he was satisfied that I wasn’t going to protest, he went on, disappearing in the cage lift.

            My eyes followed him until he was gone before turning back to the desk manager. The dog sat by my feet with his gaze on the man, too. So, there we were – all three of us having a staring competition.

            Finally, the hotel manager focused on me. “Will you need anything while you wait?”

            I bit down on my bottom lip, debating the consequences of what my answer would lead to. Throwing caution to the wind, I answered, “A glass of wine.”

            “I’m afraid the lounge and its bar are closed until this evening. However,” he trailed off, reaching under the desk before producing a wine bottle and a glass. “I’d be willing to spare a glass of my own personal favorite.”

            My eyes darted to the wine glass and the bottle before flicking to the name plate that perched on the edge of his desk. A slow smirk spread across my lips. _Charon, you could very well be my new best friend._

_~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~_

 

            “Where is he?” I asked; the words had poured from my mouth before I even fully stepped onto the balcony.

            Winston was examining gold coins. An older gentleman sat across from him, hand hovering on a briefcase of more coins. Winston frowned slightly. I knew he hated to be interrupted, but I wanted to find Santino as fast as possible.

            “Wonderful job. Thank you. Release these onto the market,” Winston told the man, his façade back in place.

            The man nodded, closing the briefcase and rising from his seat. He scurried past me, inclining his head in a sort of greeting.

My eyes returned to Winston; he, in response, gestured for me to sit in the chair the man had previously abandoned. I did so, eyes watching him as he pocketed his reading glasses.

“I assume you speak of Santino D’Antonio.”

“He came to my house last night with a marker.”

“You accepted, of course, did you not?”

I hesitated before shaking my head.

Winston sighed, leaning back in his chair. “I told you the last time I saw you what would happen if you carried out killing the Tarasov boy. You of all people know, Jonathan, that actions have their consequences. You acted and asked D’Antonio to help you in your impossible task. The consequence: you have to pay back your debt,” he explained as if he was talking about the weather.

My jaw involuntarily clenched. I knew Winston was right; I just wished he wasn’t.

“If you don’t accept the job, your life would be forfeited.”

I was silent as I took in his warning. I shouldn’t care whether I lived or not. Technically, I have nothing much to live for. I’m retired – so I say. I have no family. All I have is a pup that I adopted from a shelter. Still, that primal instinct within me knew I would never willingly surrender my life.

            Of course, there was also the situation with China. Due to my refusal, Santino also had her targeted. If I refused him, I would be risking not only my life but China’s, as well.

            Lifting my gaze to Winston’s, I spoke, “Where do I find him?”

 

            Upon returning to the lobby, I found that the pup and China were missing from the place where I last left them. A wave of panic began to surge through me as my eyes darted around the lobby.

            “Will you be requiring a room, Mr. Wick?”

            Forcing my thoughts away from China’s where-abouts, I focused on Charon. “Yes. Do you also happen to shelter?” I asked, referring to the pup.

            “Unfortunately, we do not.”

            I frowned as I began to rack my mind for another alternative. Unlike the average person, I had no one to call to watch the pup.

            “However, I would be honored to take on the challenge,” Charon added before I could think much more.

            “Thank you.” I sent him an appreciative look, fishing one of the gold coins that I luckily had in my pocket before placing it on the counter. I noticed that the pocket watch was also still in my pocket. _At least something survived_.

            My eyes glanced over my shoulder searching the lobby again.

            Charon handed me two card keys for my room. “The lady and the dog are in the sunroom, Mr. Wick,” Charon offered without looking up from his typing.

            I inclined my head, swiping the keys off the counter before starting for the sunroom. I couldn’t help but notice that my strides were longer than usual. A sense of fear was rising as a result of the cynical possibilities that kept flashing in my head.

            I came to the sunroom, promptly surveying the room. House plants and flowers of all kinds lined the room, creating a sort of maze. That fear was still pestering me as I hurried down the rows of plants. Finally, my heart slowed to its normal rate as I came to the end of the rows.

            _Should’ve known_.

            China back was facing me as she marveled at the variety of poppies that bloomed in front of the largest window in the room. She gingerly brushed the petals with the tips of her fingers as she studied them. The corners of her lips tipped up slightly as she did so, and I couldn’t help but watch the scene, noticing how the light of the sun brought out the tinge of red in her light brown waves.

            The spell was broken as her smile slowly began to fall. Her eyes glimmered, the sunlight revealing the tears that rose within them. She blinked quickly, clearing them away as she turned to look at something else.

            “You seem to be enjoying yourself.”

            I realized she was talking to the pup. He had made himself comfortable in front of the large aquarium in the corner of the room. He didn’t even turn away from his fish watching as she lowered herself beside him.

            “It’s strange that they have a fish aquarium in a room of plants,” she noted.

            I had always thought the same.

            She scoffed, leaning back to prop herself up on one hand. “Definitely beats waiting in the lobby, though, doesn’t it?” She lifted a glass of some type of wine to her lips, closing her eyes as she did so.

            “A little too early to be drinking, don’t you think?” I asked, finally deciding to make my presence known.

            I watched as her eyes slowly opened. A lazy smile dominated her lips as she turned to face me. “I figured I deserved it after the stressful night.”

            “You hate alcohol,” I countered, remembering how she had told me once in her adolescence that she disliked it because of what it and drugs had done to her mother. Then again, she did have a glass or two the last time we were here together at the Continental.

            “I find myself calmer after the first three sips. It’s the most effective method I have found to release stress,” she explained, taking one more sip. She then lifted it in a toast position as she swallowed. “And that makes three,” she muttered, setting the glass next to her.

            Her light brown eyes flicked up to me. “So, what’s the plan? Where to next?”

            “You’re staying here,” I answered.

            “What about you?” she asked, brows drawing up in confusion.

            “I have matters to attend to.”

            “Well, I’m coming with you,” she said.

            “You’ll get in the way.” It wasn’t an insult to her; it was personal criticism to myself. I would be too worried about her. Besides, the last thing I need is Santino to use her against me if our meeting doesn’t go right. The Continental is the safest place for her to be until I can figure out the rest of Santino’s motives.

            Judging by her facial features, I knew she took it as an insult to herself. However, I did nothing to ease her mind. It was better if she felt that way; it was better if she thought I was cold towards her.

            I pulled my gaze from her, choosing to focus my eyes on anything but her. “Charon will help you if you need anything; he’s going to take care of the pup. I would prefer you to stay in the hotel room, but you’ve already proven to be rebellious.” I handed her the card key. “Stay in the hotel. Don’t go with anyone; don’t talk to anyone.” My eyes lifted to hold hers. “And don’t do anything stupid to get yourself killed.”

            With that said, I left.


	3. Day Three:

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, hello, lovely readers! So, I'm doing pretty good on keeping myself on a schedule with this fanfiction *hammers on wood* I hope not to jinx it.   
>  This chapter has a lot of POV changes between China and Mr. Wick. They will be indicated by the ~~~~~  
>  Once again, I want to thank all of you readers for your support and comments. I read all of the comments, and they all put a smile on my face. They truly do fuel my work. I hope you all enjoy this chapter, and please by all means let me know if at anytime you have any questions. I'll try my best to answer your questions without spoiling future plot bunnies ;)  
>  Expect the next chapter to be uploaded about in three days time again.  
>  Please let me know what you think; Also at the end of the chapter, I will be posting foot notes in the end notes.
> 
> Songs for this chapter are "Into the Void" by Nine Inch Nails and "The Killing Type" by Amanda Palmer.  
>  "Tried to save a place from the cuts and the scratches; Tried to overcome the complications and the catches  
>  Nothing ever grows and the sun doesn't shine all day; Tried to save myself but myself keeps slipping away"
> 
> "I'm not the killing type; I'm not the killing type  
>  I'm not, I'm not; I'm not the killing type, I'm not  
>  But I would kill to make you feel; I'd kill to move your face an inch  
>  I see you staring into space; I wanna stick my fist into your mouth  
>  And twist your Arctic heart"  
> \-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

            I watched John’s retreating form as he set off before glancing down at the dog. The dog gazed back, ears perking up in anticipation.

            “Do you think I’m gonna stay here?”

            A soft whine of protest emerged from him, for he seemed to already know my answer.

            “That’s right, hot dog,” I spoke in a high-pitched tone as I jumped to my feet.

            The dog followed me from a distance. It seemed as if he was curious as to if I would actually go through with my decision. We came into the lobby just as John exited the hotel. My pace quickened, driven by my heightened determination to keep up with him.

            Why am I following John? To put it simply, I am nosy. I know that he won’t tell me the whole truth. He would strategically tell me need-to-know information, leaving out information that I actually need to know. Not to sound vain, but I feel I have a right to know why I’m being dragged into this again.

            Just as I reached the door, I heard Charon’s voice call out to me. “Excuse me, Miss.”

            That brief interruption broke my focus. Agitation swept over me as I watched John get farther away from my view. Even if I ran after him, I wouldn’t be able to catch up. By now, he would already be lost in the throng of the morning commuters. I was reluctant to pull my attention from John’s vanishing form, but I finally did so, trudging back to the desk to see what Charon had to say.

            “The owner has invited you to brunch with him on the roof.”

            I was thrown off by the statement. I had figured John had given Charon strict orders to do everything and anything to keep me on lock down. On top of that, something in Charon’s accented voice told me that the invitation was more of a command. Declining the invitation seemed out of the question.

            “Th-The owner?”

            “Yes, Miss.”

            I blinked, trying to switch my mental gears. “Ah. Ok.” My words trailed off, lingering in the air. I began to walk towards the direction that I had just come from, but I came to a halt when I realized I had no clue where I was going.  

            “Top floor. There’s an exit that leads to the roof,” Charon instructed as he went back to busying himself with his computer work.

            “Thank you.”

            I entered the lift, turning around just as the doors were closing. The dog had stayed behind, and I realized I was officially alone.

            As the lift ascended, I began to dwell on the invitation. Why on earth would the hotel’s owner want to have “brunch” with me? For that matter, how did he know that I was here? It’s not as if I was checking in as a member; for crying out loud, I wasn’t even one. My wandering eyes lifted to the corner of the lift, noticing a small circular camera.

            _Oh. Of course._

            The cage shuttered as it slammed to a stop, and the doors promptly opened. Feeling a little apprehensive, I forced myself to step out into the hallway. I noticed that there weren’t many hotel doors on this floor, probably because this floor had all of the suites. I could only imagine that the prices of suites were outrageous.

            I turned my head to the left and found the glowing red exit sign. Inhaling deeply, I pushed the door open with no clue how this encounter was going to go.

            To my surprise, the scene was nothing unordinary. It was just an ordinary rooftop. However, I would be lying if I said that the view wasn’t incredible. The man that sat at an iron table was the very image of what one would think when a well-off hotel owner came to mind.

            His black, curly hair was slicked back from his face. Wrinkles lined his lightly olive-tanned face. In his youth, he was probably a smooth, polished looker. He still was smooth and polished, for he held that same air of class that John did – although John’s masked his savagery. Despite his older features, he still had a charm to him. Perhaps the charm rested in his eyes. As I came closer, I found that behind his reading glasses, his eyes were a watery blue rather than the green I had first assumed them to be.

            “Miss. Priar,” he drew out in his timbre. There was a hint of an accent in it; with time, it probably had been masked. Nevertheless, his voice was one of those that you’d want to narrate a phone book or an instruction manual. 

            “Or should I say Miss. Bryar? Either way, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

            I snapped to attention as I realized he had used my true surname. “How-?”

            “Oh, there’s plenty more I know. However, we’re a little pressed for time. So,” he trailed off, gesturing for me to sit in the seat across from him. “If you will.”

            Never taking my eyes from him, I slowly lowered myself into the seat. He was unfazed by my trepidation, for he simply took a sip of his steaming cup – which, I could only assume was coffee due to the faint aroma that wafted my way.

            “I hope you’ll forgive me for not ordering you anything. I wasn’t sure what you would want.”

            How was it he could seem like the perfect gentleman and still make me uneasy?

            “I’ll have them bring it out right away. What would you like?”

            “Oh, no.”

            His brows rose. “Miss. Bryar?”

            “I mean, I’m – I’m not all that hungry.”

            “It’s not healthy for you to skip meals.” He gave me a chiding look before his features sobered. “Although, I can understand your loss of appetite, especially after the night you’ve had.”

            I cleared my throat, hoping to get this conversation over with as quickly as possible. “I apologize for sounding rude-”

            “Ah, yes. You are young. By definition you are impatient. John is the same.” He took another swig of his coffee before setting it down. “Miss. Bryar, I won’t waste anymore of your time, and I’ll – as the Mafia say – get down to business.” He glanced over his reading glasses at me. “What is your relationship to Jonathan?”

            Somewhere in the back of my mind, I had expected his question. However, it didn’t make the bluntness any easier to take. “John?” I repeated, blinking twice. “No offense, sir, but I find it improper to talk such… matters with someone whose name I don’t even know.”

            The man’s eyes glowed as he seemed to be smiling; yet, his lips didn’t move an inch. “Touché. My name is Winston. I apologize for not introducing myself, but I feel as if I already know you; for you see, I first overheard your name when Marcus, a close friend of mine, had lost his daughter. I then heard about your presence last year when you accompanied John, but I didn’t get a chance to introduce myself,” he mused with a knowing glint in his eyes. “Considering a little bakery had a gas leak the same night as Jonathan’s house, I find my interest peaked.”

            I didn’t answer. He knew I was Marcus’s daughter. Even still, I wouldn’t confirm his thoughts.

“I just find it curious that a year after Marcus’s passing, John has brought you here again. It makes me wonder if he is obligated to Marcus or if there are… other ulterior motives. Furthermore, it’s also curious that your bakery was targeted last night. Clearly, there must be some kind of connection.”

            I shook my head. “You’re asking the wrong person. John hasn’t told me anything. There’s no connection between us. My – Marcus,” I stumbled to correct myself before I said ‘dad’. “He and John knew each other. That’s all I know.”

            Winston’s lips pursed slightly as his eyes studied my features for any hidden reactions. I had nothing to hide. My words were true. John hasn’t even told me why I was being targeted. For that matter, I don’t even know why he came by the shop. Then again, I couldn’t say I wasn’t glad that he came. After all, as much as I hate to admit it, I would probably be dead if he hadn’t come. Of course, it could simply be dumb luck that we are always thrown together in compromising times.

            And motives? I sometimes wondered if John even knew what his own motives were. He was more of a person to act rather one to dwell on reasons.

            “Well, Miss. Bryar, I am sorry for the inconvenience.” He leaned back in his chair. “You should run along. I have a feeling Jonathan won’t be much longer.”

            I was momentarily stunned by his dismissal, but I wasn’t going to question it. I rose to my feet, pushing the chair back under the table before taking my leave. My hand was poised to open the door when I heard Winston’s voice once more.

            “Oh, and Miss. Bryar,” he began as his eyes flicked over my bloodied top, “the hotel sends its complements to you and Jonathan.”

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

            The museum was one I had seen many time in passing. To me, it was nothing I would entertain my time with if I wasn’t working. To others, judging by the crowds of people, the museum was a popular location, especially to the elite.

            Upon entering the main room, my eyes instantly began to scan the area before locking on my target. My feet carried me towards the museum’s owner, but my movements were halted by that young assassin.

            Her blue eyes scanned me as she began to pat me down. If I wasn’t in my mode, I would have picked up on the way her hands suggestively moved along my body. I snapped to attention when her hands grasped my buttocks, causing an agitated response to seize my features.

            The hint of a smirk vanished as she exhaled through her nose. It seemed she had grown bored when she could not get her desired response out of me. She signed that I was weaponless to the other men, and I was allowed to pass through.

            Santino’s attention was captured by the massive painting that hung before him. I didn’t even send it a side glance, for my focus was fully set on D’Antonio. My mind already began to formulate a plan.

            “My father left me this painting – among many,” he finally voiced; not once did he take his eyes from the painting. “He collected various pieces in his lifetime. He always told me that art speaks volumes. If you let it, it will show you the reflections of your soul.” He stared at the painting with a vacant expression. “What does it show you, John?”

            I ignored his question as I took a seat next to him, still refusing to look at the painting. “Why do you want me to kill your sister?”

            Santino blinked once, and I knew he had registered the question. “While my father left me his painting and a small portion of his wealth, he left my sister his seat on the High Table. I love my sister, John, but I can’t help but wonder the possibilities if the position befell to me in her stead.”

            His mind was lost somewhere within itself. I took that time to inconspicuously note the number of guards in the room. There were two in the main room that were keeping tabs on us. Two more and the young woman kept circling the room we were in as they pretended to be interested in the art. I was weaponless – another factor I will have to consider.

            “Of course, you must think that the Marker will go away once I’m dead. You can go back to your retirement… You can stop babysitting Marcus’s daughter.”

            I managed to keep my features neutral, but the urge to kill him on the spot tempted me as his lips twisted into a smirk.

            “I bet you’re already counting the guards, timing how long it would take for them to react. Question is, John, how would you do it?” His eyes flicked around the room. “With that man’s cane? With that woman’s glasses?”

            “With my own hands,” I growled before he could suggest anymore.

            One of his brows arched as he digested the answer. “How exciting.” He seemed amused by my response, but I detected a brief slip in his confidence.

            As much as I despised it, I knew that my problems would not end with Santino. There would always be another that would continue the cycle, and China was involved now.

            Santino must have taken my silence for acceptance. “My sister is in Rome. She’ll be at a party for her coronation.”

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

 

            I had returned to the hotel room after my talk with Winston, body slumping against the closed door. I still felt unnerved by the confrontation, and the beginnings of a migraine started as I tried to mentally sort through more questions that I had formed.

            Several boxes on the bed caught my eye. I came closer and picked up one that had a tag with my real last name scrawled on it. _Must be the complements_ , I thought as I opened one of the extravagantly wrapped boxes. I was almost tempted to not open it, for the wrappings alone were a work of art. I didn’t seem to mind too much because I eventually found myself tearing it open.

            Inside was a pair of black skinny jeans, a dark gray tank-top, and a leather jacket. There was also a matching black bra and underwear set buried beneath the folded outfit. On a normal day, I would actually be offended or surprised. At this point, I wasn’t even going to wonder how Winston knew my sizes.

            Instead, I gathered up the clothing and went into the bathroom. A nice, scalding-hot shower would surely take my mind off of everything. Locking the door behind me, I briefly thought about the fact that the lock would pose no challenge if John truly wanted to get in. Fortunately for me, those chances were nonexistent.

            I stripped myself of the bloodied and dirty clothing, cringing as I caught my reflection. Apparently I’ve been walking around with blood caked on my cheek. Too late to do anything about it now.

            I found myself taking my sweet time bathing. I relentlessly scrubbed at my skin, hoping that I could also wash away the events of last night. Maybe I might even wake up and find that it was all a dream…

            No such luck.

            My mind drifted back to the conversation with Winston. Did John feel that he was obligated to my father? Did he feel like I was a responsibility – an obligation? Then again, that’s all I’ve ever seemed to be when it comes to John. Still, those fragmented memories…

            I shook the thoughts out of my head and shut off the water. I stepped out of the shower to towel myself dry. Throwing my hair up in the towel, I began to put on the underclothing. To my surprise, the silk was very comfortable and offered incredible support.

            _I look like a pin-up_. “Damn you, Winston,” I muttered, feeling guilty for cheating on my Wal-Mart bra and underwear.

            I pulled on the jeans and tugged on the tank-top before glancing down at my discarded clothes. I don’t think anyone will be able to get the blood out of the top. There were even some splatters on the jeans. Consequently, I bagged them up and threw them in the waste basket.

            I came out of the steaming bathroom, only to be engulfed by the chill of the room. Neither the heater nor the air conditioner was on. The room only reflected the weather outside. I didn’t mind, considering I had almost scalded my skin off in the shower.

            I draped the leather jacket over an arm chair and began to pull my hair up in a ponytail. The hotel room’s door clicked open, and John walked in to catch me finishing my hair. His eyes briefly raked over me in the new clothes before traveling to the boxes on the bed.

            “The hotel sends its complements,” I explained, attempting to replicate Winston’s classic persona.

            He didn’t reply. Instead, he walked over to the other armchair and languidly leaned back in it. Judging by his silence, I figured he was probably in his planning mode. I would have left him to it, but after everything from last night and after the talk with Winston, I wanted some answers.

            So, I settled myself into the armchair next to his and began to interrogation. “What happened?”

            He peeked at me beneath lower lids. “Which part?”

            The beginning would be nice, but I know John’s not one for words. I pondered on my next question, for I knew I had to ask the right question. “Did you get a job offer?”

            “Something like that.”

             I paused. “But you’re retired,” I stated.

            “So I say.”

            “How did you get roped into it?”

            “I tried to draw retirement,” he muttered, dry humor lacing his words.

            I paused for a moment to apply his words to my own personal knowledge. If John was “retired”, that meant someone had to have some sort of blackmail on him in order to get him back out of retirement – or else someone else killed his dog and stole his car again. Seeing as the dog was still alive, I figured it was the former reason.

            Blackmail… Why does that sound right? I racked my brain as I tried to grasp that train of thought. I thought back to when I skimmed through the information on the flash drive that Aurelio had given me. There was something about Dad having to serve… some kind of promise trinket in order to pay back a favor. What was it called?

            “A Marker,” I uttered aloud, still halfway trapped in my thoughts.

            John’s eyes opened more as watched me. “What do you know of it?”

            I shook my head. “Nothing really; only that Dad had fulfilled one in order to pay back a benefactor in Chicago.” The benefactor had been one of the mobster leaders in Chicago.

            “How do you know about that?”

            My lips parted to tell him, but I closed them. Two could play the I’m-not-going-to-answer game. Petty, yes, but I would take whatever small victories I could get. “I have my ways,” I simply replied.

            No response. That was expected. There was silence between us as he studied me. He was probably using some king of Jedi-mind-reading technique. Damn him and his training.

            Hoping to switch topics, I asked, “So, how did _I_ get roped into this? I mean, you and I haven’t seen each other in a year. Was Dad somehow involved, or is it Tarasov related?”

            “You were leverage to get me to accept.”

            “How did they know about me, though?” I found myself asking out loud.

            John seemed to hesitate before reaching into his pants’ pocket. He produced an object that I haven’t seen for almost twelve years and placed it on the glass coffee table between us. I couldn’t believe he had kept it after all this time. My fingers automatically reached forth to carefully brush the object.

            _“It’s for protection.”_ The young voice echoed in my head as I recalled the day that I had found out John was going away. I was never told why, but I had had a feeling I wouldn’t see him for a long time.

            I opened the watch to find that the cut-out picture was still there. My adolescent self was smiling as I clung to my dad, who had betrayed his usual scowl with a slight grin. I remembered thinking about how I never heard about John having a family or any loved ones. I had wanted to give it the watch to John because I had wanted him to feel that he was not alone.

            I blinked, forcing the memory away. John, ever watchful, kept his eyes on me as he tried to see my reaction.

            “I see.” My voice barely came out as a whisper. He rose to his feet, and I followed suit, clearing my throat as I did so. “So where are you going?”

            “We’re leaving for Rome.”

            “I’m going with you?”

            Single nod. Then he added as if almost a reminder to himself, “But first, I’ll have to make a withdrawal.”

 

            After getting rid of a terrible case of jet-lag during the eight hour flight, I woke up to find the plane descending onto the landing pad in an airport in Rome, Italy. The trip to Rome had passed in a blur of security checks, various airports, and various flights. To my surprise, though, the flights had kept their schedules.

            It was my first time to travel out of the country – or fly, in general. So, as I walked through the airport, I found myself stretching my stiff limbs and occasionally lowering my jaw in order to pop my ears. Meanwhile, John seemed unfazed by any of the flight’s effects, for his long-legged-I’m-on-a-mission stride was relentless.

            The “withdrawal” John had spoke of resulted in him being clad in a turtleneck, blazer, dress pants, and dress shoes – all in black. As I had waited out in the main room for him to finish, I could’ve sworn I had heard a primal bellow echo its way to my ears. The roar had a touch of… agony in it.

            When he came out, his features were masked. He had grabbed me by my upper arm to pull me out of the building with him. Before we made it out of the door, the man that worked the desk had called out something in a language I couldn’t quite place. Nevertheless, it had riled John up, for his hold on me tightened as his body briefly tensed.

            Ever since then, he hasn’t said a word. He’s hardly even looked at anything. He was here, but he was also elsewhere. It was as if he was on autopilot as he dragged me out of the airport; his hand locked on my upper arm once more.

            We walked the streets of Rome for some time. It was early morning, probably about six or seven if I had to guess. I got to see a few sights as we passed by. I tried to take it all in, but it was near impossible with John’s never-ending pace. Finally, we turned a corner and came to a grand building.

            Upon entering the building, I found that it was a hotel. John and I approached the main desk. The concierge had caramel-colored skin. Due to the height of the desk, she towered over John and me. Her breasts were pushed up in her tight outfit; even still, she had beauty in her haughty features.

             “Welcome to the Continental,” she spoke in an accented tone. She almost reminded me of a female Charon – almost.

            John produced a golden coin from his pocket before setting it on the desk. The woman’s long fingernail brushed over the metal before she placed it behind the desk.

            “John Wick,” called a voice.

            John and I both turned to find a man dressed in a suit and a white scarf draped around his neck. His curly hair was pulled back into a fuzzy ponytail.

            “Julius,” John replied in greeting.

            Julius grinned, waving us over to join him in a pair of red armchairs. We all took a seat. Julius’s eyes raked over me slowly before turning towards John.

            “Questa è la tua moglie?”

             John’s lips parted slightly and he shook his head. “No.”

            “Ah,” Julius sounded out; his eyes darted between us again.

            He said something else in Italian, but I couldn’t make it out. Finally, with an intensely serious expression, he leaned in closer to John and asked a question in a low, hushed tone.

            John quirked a brow, glancing around before returning Julius’s gaze with a perplexed expression. “No.”

            Julius clapped his hands together, a warm smile gracing his features. “Ah. Welcome to the Continental Hotel,” he replied, handing John a key. “One of our finest suites.”

            John inclined his head slightly in thanks before gesturing that we were leaving. I followed behind him as we exited the hotel, confusion etched on my features.

           “What are we doing?” I asked.

         “What everyone comes to Italy to do –– shop,” he replied, turning a few corners before we came to two buildings. The one of the left seemed dingy looking from the outside. Its lettering was faded, advertising the name Angelo. The building on the right was rather new looking. Its cursive writing spelled out The Vineyard.

         John chose the building on the left. When I first came into the building, I was convinced it was an underground sweatshop, for there were many Asian women sewing away at various fabrics. One of the women had a hunched over frame; she came forth to lead John and me to another room.

         This room was a sharp contrast to the previous, for it seemed like the normal, fancy-pants tailor parlor. There was a small bar in the corner of the room. Several dress shirts, pants, and blazers filled the cabinets that lined the walls. The main attraction was the tall mirror at the end of the room.

        A short, bald man came forth, arms splayed as he greeted John. “Buongiorno, Signore Wick.”

         “Joe Angelo,” John replied, taking Angelo’s outstretched hand.

        “Welcome back to Rome,” he practically sang as he began to finger the collar of John’s suit. An expression of disdain crossed his face as he took in the suit. He then asked something in Italian, to which John replied, “I am.”

          Angelo peered at me from behind his glasses. “Sit, sit,” he said, gesturing to one of the gray couches. I did so, and watched as Angelo began to size John. I couldn’t help but watch in fascination as the process unfolded before my eyes. Angelo started with the base of a suit as he measured John’s shoulders.

            “Tell me, Mr. Wick; is this a formal event or a social affair?”

            “Social.”

            “And is this for day or for evening?”

           “I need one for day and one for night.”

            “And what style?”

           “Italian.”

           “How many buttons?”

            “Two.”

            “Trousers?”

             “Tapered.”

           “How about the lining?”

            John didn’t miss a beat. “Tactical.”

            I was practically dizzy as I listened to the two play twenty questions. I was simply amazed, for it almost seemed rehearsed. Angelo continued to fit John for the suit. He finally pulled away to consult with the other tailors. John’s eyes met mine in the mirror, catching me in the act of watching him.

           “Angelo?” John called, never taking his eyes from mine.

            “Yes, Mr. Wick?”

            “Do you work in women’s wear, as well?”

             “Ah, for the mistress?” Angelo asked, twirling around to face me. “But of course, Mr. Wick.”

            I gave John my wide-eyed gaze. “John, I can’t pay-”

           John cut me off, already approaching the couch to trade places with me.

           “Come, _ragazza,”_ Angelo called, holding out his hand for me. Sending John a look, I hesitantly slid my hand in his.

             Angelo began taking off my jacket and pants before I could blink. Soon, I was left in my underwear and tank-top. A sound of protest escaped my lips as I tried to stop him from taking off my tank-top.

             “Ah, modest mouse,” Angelo tsked. “Don’t be. Mr. Wick has seemingly already bedded you.”

             My cheeks lit up like a Christmas tree as I glanced into the mirror, half-expecting to see John with that wicked smirk on his lips. However, to my surprise, I found that John was turned away from me, attention focused on flipping through a catalog.

_Thank God!_

             I couldn’t help the grateful smile that graced my lips as I found that John wasn’t watching. Angelo took that moment to tug off my tank-top. I involuntarily wrapped my arms around myself as I stood in front of the mirror in only the silk undergarments.

_Once again, damn you, Winston!_

             A quick glance in the mirror and I found that John was still flipping through the catalog. Hopefully that would keep him preoccupied throughout the fitting. I was tempted to ask why John wasn’t stripped down to his underwear to get measured, but I held my tongue.

           “You have such a unique figure,” Angelo mused as he flittered about to measure my waist, bust, and hips. “You have hips like an Italian girl. Are you sure you’re not Italian?”

           I didn’t answer; instead, I prayed that a meteor would hurl from the sky and annihilate me.

           “But the modesty of a Catholic,” he continued, shaking his head as began to slide a base dress over me.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

             It wasn’t long before Angelo was showing me a strip of sample fabric with several bullets wedged in it.

             “Cutting edge body armor. We just sew it between the fabric and the lining,” he explained.

            “Could you do it a raw shorter?” I asked.

           “I sure can. Although, I must warn you that it will be a bit painful,” he murmured, making a face as he grasped his breast to make a point. Angelo then turned to China, who was now dressed in her clothes. “And, I have something for you, as well, modest mouse.”

            He pulled out a bralette sample. “Your dress for tonight will require no bra. Consequently, we’ve come up with a new form of support.” He reached where the wire would be and pulled out a thin, curved knife.

             China’s face mirrored an expression of pure horror as she glanced at the knife with wide eyes. I watched with an amused smirk as she unconsciously wrapped her arms around her chest.

             “Cutting edge, huh?” Angelo voiced with an excited tint to his voice.

            “More like severing my breast off. As if the wires weren’t bad enough,” she muttered.

            Angelo chuckled. “I can see why you fancy her, Mr. Wick,” he murmured so that only I could hear. I didn’t reply, pretending I didn’t hear his comment.

            “Where would you like to have it all sent?”

           “The hotel,” I answered.

             I then left with China to walk over to The Vineyard. The sommelier greeted us with an incline of his head.

           “It’s been a long time, Mr. Wick.”

            “I’d like a tasting,” I said as I came closer to the counter.

            “Excellent.” He handed me two pistols. “Glock thirty-four and twenty-six.”

            From the corner of my eye, I watched as China’s brows knitted before realization dawned over her features. I picked up the two guns, checking out how easily the magazines opened on both. I finally set them down.

           “What’s next?” he inquired.

            “Something… robust.”

             He thought for only a heartbeat before replying, “AR-15.”

             I tested the rifle and placed it back down. “Do you have anything bold?”

             “The Benelli M4,” he answered, handing me a bigger gun.

             I took a rather strange liking to the shotgun almost instantly. However, I contained myself long enough to inspect it. I tested how it felt to carry and found that the stock fit my long arms perfectly. I then checked the mag charging ease. Meanwhile, the sommelier told me everything I needed to know about the gun.

              “The grip has traction in case your hands get…” He trailed off as his eyes flicked to China. “Wet.”

            She cringed and silently excused herself to sit on the couch. I should stand up for her, but I do have to admit that it is rather amusing. It’s the only reason why the men do it to her – to get a rouse out of her.

              “And for dessert?” I asked, turning my attention back to the weapons.

              A delighted, almost boyish, glee overtook the sommelier’s features as he almost moaned, “Dessert. The finest cutlery.” He opened a case to reveal several types and lengths of knives.

              I picked one up, marveling at its sharpness. “Well done.”

              “Would you like all of these delivered to your room, sir?”

               “Yes.”

               I turned to leave with China.

               “Do enjoy your party, Mr. Wick.”

                And just like that, my excited frenzy was shattered as I realized the job I was about to do.

                We made one more stop to an old friend of mine that knew every building in Rome like the back of his hand. I got him to walk me through the layout of the place where the coronation was being held. At the end of our session, he produced me a key to get into the catacombs.

                After that, I figured China must be hungry, for it’s been about two days since she’s eaten something. I stopped by an Italian place where we ordered some sort of pasta to go. We walked about the area as we ate. Eventually, we began to start towards the hotel.

                “So, we got you a purse to go with your dress. What about heels?” China spoke; her voice suggested she was trying to break the tension by joking.

               For once, I humored her, although the action wasn’t forced. My smirk fell as I began to think about preparations for tonight.

                “Where are we going tonight?”

              “A coronation.”

              “What am I to do while you’re…” Her words broke off as she scowled at what she was about to say.

              After all this time, killing was not something she was accustomed to. She sure did an excellent job of faking it yesterday and the night before. Although, now it seemed as if she was taking it all too well – almost as if she’s… accepted it as something that’s natural.

              I didn’t want that for her. She was still young, and all hope wasn’t lost for her. To my knowledge, she still hasn’t had to kill anyone yet. That meant that there still was a chance of normalcy for her. I just had to get this mess sorted out, and then we could go our separate ways.

              However, there was still that spark in her eyes. It was the one that she had when she was a teenager and the same one we had both shared as I held her the night I killed Viggo. She had always looked at me with that spark. It was almost as if she had hope that I could be a part of that normalcy with her. However, that was out of the question, and that’s why I was going to bring her to the coronation with me tonight to prove it.

              “You’re going to wait for me to finish. It won’t take me too long anyway.”

               She nodded, poking at her food. I can tell she’s no longer hungry. “So, who’s the person that wants you to do this, and what does he or she want you to do?”

             How simple it would be to deprive her of answers. Nevertheless, as we come closer to the hotel, I can’t help but feel a sense of generosity. “Santino D’Antonio.” I turned to meet her gaze. “He wants me to kill his sister tonight.”

             I watch her expression as her eyes briefly widened. I know she’s taken off guard by my ability to easily say something so morbid and make it sound like I’m discussing my favorite drink. Yet, she forces herself to put that mask on so that I won’t see it – the apprehension.

             I smirk as we enter the lobby, unable to deny the excitement that drowns out the dread. “Let’s go get ready.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Questa è la tua moglie?” translates from Italian to be "Is this you wife?" The word ragazza means 'girl' in Italian. Also, I am a complete gun noob; consequently, I didn't go into too much detail about the gun descriptions for fear I would completely butcher it. I just see a gun, and I'm like oooo! I had to ask one of my friends, who I refer to as a gun-guru. I also did some research on the guns mentioned in the movie. So, if I am completely off the mark, please do let me know and point me in the right direction; I'll do my best to fix it.


	4. Night Three:

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, hello! Here is the fourth chapter of the fanfiction right on time... sort of.  
> The coronation scene is personally one of my many favorite scenes because of Gianna's death scene. I mean, it was just... Chills.  
> Thank you all for your wonderful reviews! Please continued to let me know what you think!  
> Songs for this chapter include "Coronation" and "Plastic Heart" by Ciscandra Nostalghia (which are hauntingly beautiful and do a perfect job of contrasting with the violence) When I first heard "Plastic Heart", I was a little biased and thought it was a perfect song for China and John, especially the lyrics -- my gosh, they're beautiful in my opinion.  
> "Just take my heart; Just rip it out. This holy skin, it's falling out; I lay my body... on the bed; One day, someday you know I will see you again  
> I put my hand against your plastic heart. No, suicide is not the plan, stand up. Even the stars are trapped inside, oh my  
> There's nothing left to hide  
> There's nothing left to die  
> There's nothing left to die"  
> _____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

            Each of us began the task of getting ready. Of course, our versions were very different. I was struggling to put on my complicated red dress; John was effortlessly tugging on his new suit. I was putting in earrings; John was strapping his own accessories to himself – guns and knives, of course. And, while I was doing my hair and make-up, John was packing a backpack-like case and a viola case with the rifle, the shotgun, and their ammunition.

            I couldn’t help but watch him in his mode as I applied eyeliner. I wasn’t a make-up artist by any means; however, I knew how to do the basics. Besides, I wasn’t going for anything elaborate. I jolted in surprise, almost stabbing my eye out with a mascara wand, as John’s eyes met mine in the mirror. Caught in the act once more.

            I lowered my eyes as I closed the mascara tube. “So, am I to be some kind of seductress? A distraction?” I asked, trying to joke to ease the tension. I picked up a tube of red lipstick – not too bright, not too dark.

            “A distraction of sorts.”

            “For whom?” I asked as I began to apply the lipstick.

            “Me.”

            My hand froze, and my eyes once again rose to find that he was watching my every move.

            “When I’m finished, you’re to accompany me so no one will ask questions.”

            _Of course, China. What else?_ I mentally shook myself at having such preposterous thoughts. I rubbed my lips together, keeping my eyes trained on the task of rolling the tube back down and returning its lid to it. I set it to the side with its other comrades before moving to my feet.

            Smoothing the dress down, I glanced at my appearance in the full-length mirror. The dress was silk and colored a deep shade of crimson; the sleeves were short, stopping just at my upper arm. In the back, the design adopted an open-back style, revealing the length of my entire spine and all the flesh that covered it.

Yes, Angelo was right. I hadn’t been able to wear a bra with this dress, for it would’ve made the dress look tacky. Consequently, my breasts were defying gravity with only the bladed support Angelo had installed; I, for my own benefit, had slapped Band-Aids over my nipples because I didn’t want the idea of my high-beams turned on high haunting my conscience.

I am usually a pretty confident person – modest, yes. However, as I look at myself in the mirror, I just want to put a potato sack over myself and call it quits. I mean, the dress looks good; it shapes me in all the right places. I just simply feel too exposed in it.

My hair turned out well, though. I had let it stay in its natural wavy state, compromising by pulling it into a half-up, half-down updo.

I turned around to face John. Splaying my arms out to my sides, I sighed, “How do I look?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, his eyes slowly raked over me, taking in every detail. “You’ll fit right in,” he finally murmured.

I didn’t understand why I felt a sinking feeling at the reply, but I sobered my features as his gaze landed on my feet. He quirked a brow at my choice of footwear. 

I fixed the long skirt of my dress to hide my boots. “Well, you know… I thought we would probably be running around.” I glanced at the red heels that had come with the dress. “John, I’m not Wonder Woman. There’s no way I can run in those ten-inch heels.” I exaggerated the heel length, of course. “Until Angelo revolutionizes heels…” I trailed off. “Besides, the dress is long enough to hide them,” I defended.

He shook his head before walking over to the bags that had resulted from our shopping expedition. He pulled out a box with some kind of name-brand logo on it before handing it to me. I opened it to find a pair of flats that matched the color of the dress.

“I figured as much,” he simply stated before going to gather his instrument cases.

 

We trekked down alleyways before John snuck us into the catacombs with the set of keys the map/key maker had given him. I followed behind John as he began to unload the cases and conduct his own “sound check”. He loaded each of the guns and placed them in different locations. His movements were fast and practiced – natural as one brushing his or her teeth. A belt with ammunition was left with the rifle before we came to an exit. Judging by the faint thumping music, it leads to the party.

“I guess this is where we part ways.”

Single nod. He glanced at the watch that was turned towards the inside of his wrist. “Meet me outside in about thirty minutes.” He looked up from the watch. “Don’t talk to anyone. Don’t do anything stupid to get-“

“Myself killed,” I finished in a tired tone. “Same goes for you,” I added, peering up at him. “You’re my ride, after all,” I added with a teasing grin.

His eyes trailed over my face before he looked away. He shifted on his feet before coming closer to me. He towered over me, eyes piercing mine. “If at any time I tell you to go back to the hotel without me, do not defy me,” he warned with a slight shake of his head to exaggerate his point. His eyes held a warning that told me he was deadly serious. It was so intense that my head jerked a nod on its own accord.

With that, he left me, and I stepped through the exit. I followed the howl of a violin. As a melodic cry pierced the air and blended into the crescendo of a synthesized beat, I stepped into the scene of the party. The timpani’s thunderous roll sounded as the female singer began to sing.

“ ** _I feel your breath; I hear something in my chest. There’s something in the way you move… I cannot explain_**.”

            I noticed that the crowd of people before me began to split apart. Their gazes were locked towards me. No, not me… My eyes followed theirs to find that the center of their attention was trained on a group that was entering behind me. I quickly stumbled back until I merged into the crowd. My eyes never left the group as I watched them advance.

            The woman in the center beamed an air of royalty; she knew it too, for she confidently flaunted it. Her brown hair was streaked with black and was pinned up. Her dress was a glimmering silver with a white fur scarf draped around her shoulders. No doubt this was the sister John had been sent to kill.

            Four men flanked her. The one to her left had light-caramel-colored skin. His gaze scanned the crowd while his frame was alert and protective. He wore a mask – the very mask I had seen John wear many times. It was the impenetrable “business” mask.

             I found myself moving closer to her, staying at a safe distance, of course. She greeted a few guests, smiling as she did so. It was all business to her, or so her persona reflected. The man that had flanked her left leaned down to murmur something to her. She nodded before politely excusing herself.

            For some reason, I found myself following her again. I slipped behind each pillar, making sure to keep my presence unknown. As I came outside, my eyes briefly strayed to leave myself mental breadcrumbs so that I could get back. During their journey, they landed on John.

            He stood atop one of the many stones of the catacombs. My existence seemed to be unknown, for his eyes were cast down to watch the sister and her bodyguard enter the hidden room. John faded away into the shadows, and my feet automatically began to follow.

            Fortunately, I had paid slight attention to the key maker. So, if I remembered correctly, if I took a right, another right, and a left…

            _Bingo!_ I caught John’s swift form disappearing as he turned another corridor. My movements became faster – well, as fast as I could make them without being caught following. I came to a corridor with two options. John was nowhere in sight. Consequently, I took the opening that I heard voices coming from.

            “Mr. Akoni,” I heard a cheery voice greet as I crawled through the opening.

            I found myself wedged behind a shoji screen in a dimly lit room. I couldn’t see much without revealing where I was, so I simply just remained still and listened.

            “Are you enjoying the festivities?” It was the sister’s voice. “Please. Sit.” I heard a shuffle of fabric before the slight creak of furniture.

            “Miss. D’Antonio, you can’t just take what is rightfully-”

            “Nothing was taken. They came to us with these territories.”

            “Knives were pressed to their throats.”

            “That blade you speak of was meant for their children. They were only meant to watch. What is yours is now ours, Mr. Akoni. Now go. Enjoy the party. Have some fun.” I was amazed at how she could sound so deadly yet inviting at the same time.

            There was the sound of retreating footsteps. The only sound was the music that blast from the party. Finally, there were words; they were in Italian, though, and I was unable to make them out. Apparently, she dismissed her bodyguard, for there was another pair of hesitant footsteps that left the room

            “What would I do without you, Cassian?” I heard her whisper before I turned to retreat into the corridor.

            I hurried down until I found the opening that I didn’t take before. This time, as I poked my head out, I found myself in a sort of bathroom. I caught John moving forth from a horde of mirrors; I, in turn, took his place behind the mirrors and trained my eyes on the scene. John stood in front of the mirrors I was hidden behind. His gaze was locked on the sister as she moved to stand before her vanity mirror. She went through the motions as she focused on her reflection. Finally, her focus seemed to zone in on John’s reflection.

            I could visibly see her become rigid as she registered his presence, and I could only imagine the panic she must be feeling. She slowly turned around. “John.”

            I couldn’t see his facial expression from behind. “Gianna.”

            “There was a time, not so long ago, in which I considered us as friends.”

John didn’t speak for a moment. “I still do.” He began to move as she did.

“Yet, here you are.” Her eyes studied him as she continued to retreat. “What brought you back, John?”

“A Marker,” he replied, slowly advancing – ever the predator.

“Held by whom?”

“Your brother.” He came to a stop as she became trapped by the edge of the pool in the center of the room.

“Tell me, John, this Marker… is it how you got out? And what was her name? This… woman whose life has ended my own?”

“Helen,” John answered, a hint of pain lacing his voice.

“Helen,” she repeated in a light tone. “As in Helen of Troy.” She scoffed lightly, shaking her head. “This… Helen, was she worth the price that you now seek to pay?”

Single nod.

For some reason, I found myself slightly bothered by his response. I recognized the emotion, for I had felt it many times before when it came to John. Be that as it is, I still scolded myself for thinking such.

My attention returned to the present as Gianna crept closer to John. “Now, let me tell you what will happen when I die. Santino will lay claim to my seat at the table. He will take New York. And you… will be the one who gifted it to him,” she said, allowing the words to sink in before moving away from him.

She moved to the center of the room, sliding off her scarf-like jacket. She then reached behind her to unzip her dress before letting it pool at her feet. Her fingers snaked up to her hair, unclasping the clip in her hair. Her waves cascaded down her bare, tanned back before she glanced over her shoulder at John, who had watched her every movement.

“And what would your Helen think about that, John?” she asked, sliding into the pool. “What would your Helen think of you? Hm?” she sneered, poising the pointed end of her clip towards her wrist.

Gianna began to drag the pointed clip over her wrist. She did the same to the other wrist.

“Why?” John inquired, obviously just as confused as I was.

“Because,” she breathed, “I’ve lived my life my way, and I’ll die _my_ way.”

I admired her answer. She knew death was inevitable when it was being dealt by Death himself. She lowered herself into the water, moving to lean against one of the sides of the pool. Her arms were splayed out as blood began to taint the clear water.

“Do you fear damnation, John?”

John didn’t even hesitate. “Yes.” The honesty was evident in his one-worded response. He began to walk closer to her.

“You know, I always thought I could escape it. That I’d see it coming.” Her gaze was elsewhere before she trained her eyes on John. “That I’d see you.”

As she spoke, John kept advancing until he lowered himself to crouch next to her. He reached into the water and gently took her hand into his. His thumb stroked across her severed flesh. Her expression mirrored the surprise that mine held; I didn’t miss the slight shimmer of tears in her eyes as she looked up at him.

And, that’s when it hit me. Death could be merciful.

The thought echoed in my head as I watched John hold Gianna’s wrist as she continued to bleed out. When she finally ceased to move, John let her hand slowly slip back into the water. Without blinking, he raised his gun to her head and pulled the trigger.

My entire body jolted as the gun shot rang through my body. Stray tears – ones I didn’t even know had formed – fell freely from my eyes. I didn’t stick around after that; instead, I blindly stumbled through the catacombs. My ears were ringing to the point that I couldn’t even hear my own thoughts. Honestly, I didn’t want to hear them, though.

I found myself back in the main cavern where the party-goers were still celebrating, completely ignorant that their hostess was dead. I scanned the crowd for any sign of John as I hurried out of the party. John wasn’t there. A mixture of dread and relief filled me at the discovery.

_He did say thirty minutes_ , I reminded myself. _The deed had been quicker than expected_.

I scurried back inside and threw myself against the bar. The bartender raised a brow, silently asking me what I wanted. Thank God it was an open bar.

“Whiskey,” I gasped.

He wordlessly placed a shot glass in front of me before pouring a couple of ounces into it. I swiped up the glass as soon as he backed away and downed it. Screw the first three sips. I held out the empty glass, holding up my index finger to gesture I wanted one more shot. Just as I lifted the glass to guzzle it down, a hand brushed my wrist and hindered the movement.

“ _Appendere, Signorina_.”

I peeked up to see Gianna’s bodyguard had stopped me from gorging the drink. He must have registered my jumpy countenance, for he quickly released me.

“ _Scusa_.”

Through my miniature heart attack, I think I made out him saying sorry in Italian. I still wasn’t quite sure, though.

            “Ah, you’re American,” he corrected himself. “I’m sorry to stop you. It’s just Rome is not the safest place to get drunk in.”

            I couldn’t help the scoff that burst forth from my lips. “Where is safe?” I murmured.

            The corner of his lips tipped up at the comment as he leaned against the bar. “Rough night?”

            “You have no idea.” My eyes landed on him as I finished my statement, and my frantic movement was overshadowed by pity. Gianna was dead, and judging by his protectiveness that I previously noted, she wasn’t just a job to him. “But, it could always be worse,” I added in a softer tone.

            His lips mirrored his amusement in my answer. “I like your optimism, Miss…?”

            “China,” I uttered. No harm in that. Surely, I wasn’t the only person with the first name. Besides, I felt somewhat obligated to give him that much.

           “Cassian,” he replied before inclining his head. “I have to get going. Take it easy, ok?” He made his way to the exit.

          I glanced down at my untouched drink, thankful that Cassian had talked some sense into me. Now wasn’t the time to fling myself off the wagon.

           The encounter with Cassian had sent my mood plundering into a state of depression. I felt slightly drained and ready to go home. Funny, right? I haven’t even done anything. I felt guilty for being involved with Gianna’s death. I mean, technically I wasn’t. Even still, I felt responsible for witnessing her death. Then again, one good encounter didn’t necessarily mean that Cassian was a good guy. The same went for Gianna. One could never be sure in John’s world. The reasoning still didn’t make me feel any better.

            Releasing a sight, I pushed myself away from the bar. As I did so, I could have sworn I detected the faint echo of gunshots. Seeing as no one else noticed, I started to write it off as my ears playing tricks on me. However, that notion was obliterated as I heard more gunshots sounding over the thumping music. The shots were followed by a mixture of screams: some joyful and excited while others were filled with horror.

            I spun around towards the ruckus. I had a feeling of what to expect. I was not disappointed either, for there John was – hopping off the stage and gunning down men left and right.

_I should’ve drunk the shot_.

 

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~          

            I hopped off the stage, shooting Gianna’s guards as I did so. I wasn’t expecting to run into Cassian while waiting for China to show up. That one miscalculation led to my presence being known.

            I ducked behind a boulder. The opening to the catacombs was within my sights. I waited for the guards to pass, reloading the glock before sprinting into the catacombs.

            The catacombs were quiet – too quiet. The chaos above should at least echo throughout the cavern, but it was silent. I patted out the bullets from my suit, gnashing my teeth together at the stinging sensation. A sense of satisfaction briefly filled me as the bullets clattered on the ground.

            Raising my gun, I began to advance through the tunnels. Hopefully China would still be waiting. The thought forced my steps to quicken down the blue-light-illuminated path. Turning a corner, I came to a stop as I found Santino’s bodyguard blocking my path.

            “Loose ends?” I stated rather than asked.

            She nodded before signing, “Just one.” She finished by flipping me off and blowing me a kiss.

            I didn’t even blink as I threw my suit jacket up in a makeshift shield to protect my head from bullets. I fired off some of my rounds before recharging as I ran through the labyrinth. The gun clicked, signaling it was out of bullets. In the heat of my frustration, I hurled the empty gun at one of Santino’s men before running towards one of my hidden “Easter eggs”.

            I fastened the ammunition belt to my waist before tugging the rifle down. I took my time loading it, cocking it just in time to shoot an on-coming attacker. I unloaded the mag on more of the men before sliding down a dip. I discarded the gun and grabbed my alternate gun – my own personal favorite.

            The first mag was done within a couple of shots. I had to resort to stabbing the barrel into a man, reloading as I held him down. I then pulled the trigger, shooting him as I yanked the gun out of him.

            That one distraction allowed a couple of men to get a few shots in. I was briefly taken off guard by the blows even though none of the shots penetrated the suit. I recovered and promptly emptied the rest of the gun’s ammo on the remaining men. With no one left, I took that time to make my escape, emerging onto the street in front of the estate.

            I inhaled deeply to steady my breathing before straightening my suit.

            “John?”

            I whirled around, relief flooding through me as I found that China was ok. Without giving her a chance to ask any questions, I locked my hand around her upper arm and began tugging her down an alleyway.

            I reached into my suit pocket to retrieve my cell phone. It was cracked, but it still functioned. I dialed the hotel.

            “Continental. How may I be of service?”

            “Taxi service,” I spoke before ending the call. There was no need to tell my location; the hotel tacks every phone during the lodger’s stay.

            I knew there would be more reinforcements soon. Whether it would be Gianna’s or her brother’s, I didn’t want to stick around and find out. I was already out of guns and ammunition – not that I couldn’t find alternate ways to take them. Besides, China was with me. If all else failed, I could at least get her out of here and back to the hotel.

            We came to a main street just as the hotel’s taxicab pulled up to greet us at the curb. I approached the car to open the door for China. My hand barely brushed against the handle of the door before I registered the faint revving of an engine and the squeal of tires. Someone was definitely coming.

            Breathing a sigh, I began to urge her into the car. She, ever stubborn, resisted.

            “You don’t have any guns, John,” she protested. “I can help you.”

            “I don’t need guns, and you’ll get in the way,” I curtly replied, trying to push her into the car.

            She put up a good fight, making herself as heavy as possible. And, given the catacombs, I didn’t have much patience to fight her.

            “China,” I warned, patience slipping further as I heard the roar of the engine coming closer. “I’m not in the mood.”

            “And neither am I,” she bit back.

            “Get. In. The. Car,” I bit out.

            “You get in, too. Walk away, John. Just for tonight. Walk away,” she pleaded as she tried to reason with me.

            Didn’t she understand? I couldn’t walk away. I wasn’t feeling quite reasonable at the moment. Santino blew up my house; he threatened China’s life. He roped me back into this world that I had spent years trying to bury and ordered me to do a job that I didn’t want to do. On top of it all, the just now double crossed me. It was personal now, and I finally snapped. “Get in the fucking car, China!” I barked.

            She stiffened against me, and I could feel the goose bumps that spread across her skin as she glanced up at me. Her eyes were wide with fear, and I saw the uncertainty that hid within them. Even still, she didn’t move. “No, John,” she croaked in the strongest voice she could muster, swallowing her fear as she did so.

            My hand clasped around the needle that I had stashed amongst my ammunition belt. The sommelier had included it within my purchase. He must have sensed China was going to be difficult.

            _Plan B_.

            Without even blinking, I whirled her around until her back was pressed against my chest. Before she could react, I stuck the needle in the crook of her neck and pumped the drug into her. The drug was fast-acting; the fact was exhibited as she began to sag against me. Her breathing became labored as she tried to put up a fight, but my grip remained firm against her sluggish movements.

            As I turned her in my arms, I almost cringed at the look she gave me. A sense of betrayal was etched onto her features. China hated drugs, and I had used her very hatred to make her comply. Even still, I never let it show that it bothered me.

            I eased her into the car once her lids fluttered close. I buckled her up, hesitating to pull away from her. Nevertheless, I did so. I turned to the staff member, “Make sure she gets to the hotel safely.” There was warning in my tone, hinting at the possibilities of what would happen if something happened to China.

            “Of course, Mr. Wick,” he answered.

            With that, I closed the door of the cab and stood back as the cab took off. I watched it disappear down the road before I registered the roar of the engine in my ear. One moment it was passing by; the next, I was rolling on the ground, feeling the car’s impact radiate over my body.

            “You’re not having a good night are you, John?” a livid voice sounded.

            I scrambled to my feet as Cassian began to shoot at me. I grasped my glock before shooting back. A line of parked cars was the only barrier between us. Our shots nicked several of their windshields and set off their alarms.

            We both launched ourselves towards the other, disarming each other in the process. We wrestled with the other, each trying to get the upper hand. Before long, we were rolling down the stairs. The fall unlocked us from each other. However, upon stopping in the middle of the stairs, we were back at it, rolling down the rest of the stairs.

            Once I recovered, I charged Cassian, who swiftly blocked me and twisted my wrist in the process. I barely uttered a growl before Cassian landed several blows to my sternum. As I pushed myself away, Cassian pulled out a knife before coming towards me again. We tussled on the ground for a moment, neither of us on top. I managed to reach my gun before firing. Each bullet hit a different area of the pavement, barley missing Cassian’s head.

            When my gun ran out of bullets, Cassian took that time to jab his knife into the area just below my left breast. The area was a spot that the armor was lacking on. Therefore, the knife should’ve penetrated my flesh, but because of a handy little trinket in my breast pocket, it only nicked me.

            We fought more as Cassian retracted the blade. He seemed to have the upper hand, but I managed to land a blow to his neck. The action caught him off guard but only briefly, for he soon locked me in the choke-hole position. His hold was like that of a Python, tightening with every ticking second. I could feel blood rushing to my head, but I forced myself to focus on the glock in my hand. I fumbled for the mag attached to my belt before slamming it into the gun.

            Several shots rang out, forcing him to release his hold. That one moment gave me a brief reprieve before we flung ourselves at each other, resulting in us crashing through a window.

            We were quick to our feet and lashed out. Through my rage and bloodlust, I thought I heard someone calling out, but I ignored it at first. It became more prominent, though, slowly piercing my one-tracked instincts.

            “Gentlemen!” The thunderous roar broke our concentration. “Must I remind you of the hotel’s policy?”

            The reality of our location began to sink in, and we reluctantly pulled away.

            “No, _signore_ ,” Cassian voiced first.

            “No, sir,” I repeated.

            Cassian shifted me a murderous side glance. “Might I suggest a trip to the lounge to calm yourselves?” The suggestion was more of a command, and the situation reminded me of two children that had just been scolded.

            I turned towards Cassian. “Gin, right?”

            I could see Cassian was having difficulty roping in his fury. “Yeah. Bourbon. Right?” He enunciated each strained word.

            “Yeah,” I replied before walking towards the bar with the very guy I had just tried to kill.


	5. Night Three (Part Two):

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greetings! I bring the next update! I've been so excited about putting this one up. I was suppose to upload this tomorrow, but circumstances are not going to allow me that opportunity. Consequently, here it is a little early. I'm planning on updating Monday (for me).  
> From this point on, I am going to be anxiously and furiously typing up chapters because I cannot simply wait to get them out. I've been bottling these chapters up inside my mind, and now they want out! Also, you clever readers are catching on that John's and China's road is going to be bumpy, especially when the third movie comes out if it's anything like I'm thinking it's going to be.  
> Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this update as much as I do, and I hope it'll tie you over until the next one. Thank you for all of the lovely comments! For better or for worse, please by all means let me know what you think! :)  
> Songs for this chapter are "China Girl" by David Bowie (yes, the infamous father-daughter dance montage song) and "Rooster" by Alice in Chains towards the end of the chapter.  
> "Ain't found a way to kill me yet; eyes burn with sting and sweat  
> Seems every path leads me to nowhere."  
> \-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

           

            The bartender set our glasses before us – a single shot glass of Bourbon for me and a tall glass of Gin for Cassian. I thanked the bartender before taking a sip of the shot, reveling in the sensation of the cool liquid sliding down my throat.

            “I had a Marker.”

            “Whose?”

            “Her brother’s.”

            “I see. You had no choice.”

            “He wants her seat at the table,” I explained, raising the glass to my lips.

            “He’ll get it now,” he commented, mimicking my action. “So, you’re free.”

            A sense of dry humor washed over me. “Am I?”

            He looked me square in the eye, deadpanning, “No. Not at all.” He took a pull of his drink. “And now you’ve dragged her further down into this world.”

            I stiffened slightly.  

            “I thought she looked familiar,” he continued, seeming to not notice my uneasiness. “Marcus’s daughter, right?”

            The question did not settle my growing anxiousness.

            Cassian’s gaze became distant as I watched him closely. “A bounty was placed on her head about eleven years ago. I was passing through the area. It was easy money.” He shrugged half-heartedly. “But, I didn’t do it. Marcus never wronged me. I’m surprised she’s still alive.”

            He turned to meet my eyes. “You killed my ward – someone I was close to. You seem close to the girl. An eye for an eye, John. You know how it goes.” He placed his half-finished drink on the coaster. “I’ll make it quick. I promise.”

            His challenge hung in the air, and I accepted it. “I’ll try to do the same.”

            Cassian placed a gold coin on the bar. “This one’s on me.” He stood and fixed his suit before sending me a haughty look. “Consider it a professional courtesy.”

            I raised my glass to him in thanks – strange I was thanking Cassian, the very man that had just threatened China’s life, for buying me a drink. I turned back towards the bar as he walked away. It seemed my priorities were beginning to unfold before my eyes. Kill Santino’s men; kill Cassian; kill Santino (hell, I’ll even settle to save Cassian for last); and protect China.

            As the name crossed my mind, I was reminded that I had drugged her. The drug was fast-acting, and that meant that it would burn off quickly. With that said, it wouldn’t be long before she woke up. There was no telling what I would find upon returning to my hotel room.

            Exhaling a heavy sigh, I began to move from my seat, but a figure lounging on a couch caught the corner of my eye. _My night just keeps getting better_.

            The tips of her lips quirked up before she signed, “ **Rough night**?” She leaned her head to the side and signed, “ **Can I buy you a drink**?”

            I didn’t even try to hide my hostility. “No.” I raised my glass to show that I was already covered.

            She shook her head. “ **Not him – me**.”

            I ignored her and began to move from my seat, but not before she spelled out, “ **Be seeing you, Mr. Wick**.”

            Feeling that agitation creeping over me again, I let my fingers sign, “ **Not if I see you first**.”

            My strides were long as I trudged through the never ending halls. The suppressed anger had been renewed, and all I really wanted to do was take a load off. Hopefully this night wouldn’t get anymore eventful. I came to my floor as the thought crossed my mind. No sooner than it had, I heard the faint sound of blasting music coming from the end of the hall.

            I walked faster, the noise becoming more prominent with every step I took. I had hoped that it was coming from one of the neighboring rooms, but I knew that no assassin in his or her right mind would dare blast music in the middle of the night. Yes, the Continental had rules about killing on the grounds; however, this was pushing it. Plus, judging by the heads that dared to poke out of the rooms, the music wasn’t coming from their rooms.

            As I came closer to my room, I found that the music was becoming more tangible. I could hear every single lyric coming from the male singer and every single beat. If I listened closely, I could even hear a voice singing along to the song. My hand came to hover over the doorknob, and I could clearly hear everything. _Please, don’t be China blasting the radio at twelve in the morning._

            Needless to say, I was let down as I opened the door, for there China was – clad in her rumpled red dress – dancing on the bed while screaming the lyrics to David Bowie’s “China Girl” at the top of her lungs.

            “And when I get excited, my little China girl says,” she sang into a hairbrush-microphone before striking some ridiculous pose. “Oh baby, just you shut your mouth,” she cried out before flopping down on the messed up bed.

            I silently closed the door behind me, struggling to keep my composure as I did so, before moving to turn down the radio. I then found myself standing before her with my hands on my hips. I took in her disheveled appearance: dress rolled up to just above her knees; wavy hair that had completely escaped her pin; and flushed cheeks and closed eyes that were hidden beneath her strands of hair.

            Her eyes opened slowly to trail up to me. A slow smirk spread across her lips as she pushed her hair from her face. “Hello, Johnnnnn,” she sounded out.

            I didn’t reply. I just stood there with a sobered face.

            She mimicked my hands-on-hips movement from her reclined position. “Don’t give me that look, Mister Wick,” she drawled, rolling her eyes. “I’m ninety-nine-point-nine percent sure that this,” she gestured towards her countenance, “is your fault.” She pointed her small index finger at me as she made the accusation. She tried to sit up, but she quickly lowered herself back down, clutching her head. “Although, I’m sure I probably had something to do with it, as well,” she groaned.

            I knew the drug was probably giving her hell. The side effects shouldn’t be making her act like a drunken teenager, though. Unless… I cupped her flustered face to examine her. “How much did you have to drink?”

            She frowned, clearly seeming to have to think about it. “Well, I looked for it, but I think that Cleopatra-wanna-be at the front desk hid it from me,” she explained. She thought again. “I had one at the party; I might have drunk it a little too fast,” she sighed with a grimace.

            “Alcohol and drugs do not mix well,” I said more to myself than to her.

            Her eyes narrowed up at me. “Yeah? Well, I wasn’t planning on doing either,” she pointedly snapped.

            _Definitely sobering up_.

            My hypothesis was supported as she began to clutch at her stomach. “I don’t feel too well, John,” she murmured, burying her face in one of the pillows.

            I took her frail hand in mine to examine her fingertips before checking her skin elasticity. A frown seized my lips as the skin took its time to return to normal. I gently pulled her into a sitting position, allowing her to support herself against me. “You just need to hydrate,” I voiced with a sigh.

            My frown deepened as she began to shake despite her flushed face. I pressed the back of my hand against her forehead. She was hot but not feverish. This was her body trying to burn off the drug. Unfortunately, the presence of alcohol in her system was going to prolong the process. I couldn’t imagine what it would be like it she had drunk more than one shot.

            “Come on. Let’s get you in the tub.” Keeping her warm and hydrated was the only solution. The drug would just have to run its course.

            I helped her stand and started to let her go, but she began to sway. I quickly wrapped my arms around her to steady her.

            “Woah,” she breathed. Her face was momentarily perplexed before she patted my upper bicep. “I got it; I got it.”

            I still didn’t release her, and her state of mind didn’t seem to notice as I led her into the bathroom before letting her lean against the sink.

            “Told you,” she said with a drunken, victorious grin as she grasped the counter.

            I shook my head, a small smirk spreading across my lips as I turned to start the water. The bath was big enough for two; therefore, it took some time for it to fill up. I grabbed one of the many bottles that advertised some exotic fruit on its body. “Bubbles?” I offered, showing her the bottle.

            She shrugged. “Why not?” She then added in a whisper to herself, “This is as close to vacation that I may get.”

            Once the bubbly water was filled to a generous amount, I cut off the water and turned to her. I glanced at her dress before looking back up at her.

            To this, she wagged her finger at me with a twist of her lips. “Ah-ah-ah, Johnny,” she sang before frowning. “No, Johnny is terrible for you. John is much better,” she explained to herself with a nod of her head. She focused her eyes back on me. “Turn around… please,” she added, making a gesture for me to do so.

            I turned around to face the wall, making a mental note to never drug China again. My ears picked up on whatever miniscule sounds I could in the silence. There was a rustle of fabric before I heard her murmuring, “Damn fancy dress; damn Angelo.” She released a sigh before I felt her eyes on my back. “John,” she started as if she was testing my name on her lips.

            “Mhm?” I grunted, never taking my eyes off the wall.

            “I-” she paused, seeming to be thinking of the best way to say her next strain of words. “I need your help,” she finally admitted.

            I blinked once, unsure if I had heard her correctly. She was definitely under the influence if she had mustered the gall to make the request she was making. I glanced over my shoulder, seeking her flustered face. Her eyes kept shifting to the side as she refused to bring herself to look me in the eye.

            Even in her drunken state she was modest. If the circumstances were different, I could have been cruel. However, considering I had been mainly responsible for putting us in this predicament, I was feeling a little amiable.

            “Do you mind?” she asked, turning so that her back was facing me.

            Instead of replying, I came to stand behind her. Glancing down at the task, I found that she had managed to get the zipper down to the small of her back before she had surrendered. I hesitantly continued her work. My left hand cupped the dip of her waist, and my right hand began to tug down the zipper. I noticed goose bumps began to form over her skin as my knuckles brushed against the bare skin of her spine. In my mind, the reaction was written off as a response due to her shivering.

            A hint of black lace began to come into view, and I forced myself to release the zipper to halt any further exploration. Her head slowly twisted as she shot me a look over her shoulder. Those hazelnut-colored orbs reflected her thoughts. She seemed to be struggling internally, but her expression slowly sobered as if she had cast those pesky conflicts aside.

            “Thank you,” she promptly voiced. I was surprised at the confidence in her voice, for I had expected her to be jitterier about the situation. Then again, being under the influence can change a person.

            I cleared my throat in response and took several steps back. Her expression seemed to fall at my action, but it must’ve been a trick of the light because it was no longer there when I looked again.

            “Think you can manage?” My voice was even, portraying no emotion.

            She jutted a nod, lowering her eyes to the bubbles. I didn’t leave right away, but I eventually forced myself back the bedroom. My feet ceased pass the threshold as I heard a faint splash of water followed by the sound of bottles collapsing to the floor.

            _She’s going to drown herself_.

            I burst through the door as soon as my mind entertained the notion. My wild gaze landed on a fallen China. Her arms were thrown over the side of the tub, fingers blanching as she clung to the edge. Some of the bubbly water had sloshed onto the floor, joining the discarded bottles.

            “S-sorry about that. I-I’m ok,” she stuttered out. “The room was a little spinny,” she vindicated in a small voice. She tried to steady herself up, but I wasn’t going to take a chance on her arrogance and pride. I shucked off my suit jacket and pulled off my tie, draping them both over the counter before lowering myself next to the tub.

            She reacted by trying to move away and cover herself in the bubbles. “You’ll get your suit wet,” she protested.

            I ignored her statement as the water seeped onto my pant legs. I grabbed a rag and began to lather soap onto it.

            “I’m fine, John,” she tried again.

            “It would be rather difficult to have to call the doctor to examine you if you broke something. Besides, being in a hurry to get you medical care, I would neglect to clothe you,” I challenged.

            The objection was on the tip of her tongue, but it never surfaced. Instead, she clasped her head and pulled her knees up to her chest. Her position was strategic to help the bubbles censor her body. Either way, her actions were unnecessary. Judging by her experience with men, though, it couldn’t be helped.

            _You’re to blame, too_.

            I shook the voice away and began my task. Her body jolted as one my hands clasped her shoulder. In an attempt to calm her, I began to gently move the rag along her bare back. Of course, she reacted like a nervous puppy, squirming under my touch. I didn’t let it deter my work. Brushing her hair over her shoulder, I spread the soap over the nape of her neck. I finished the task and grabbed the showerhead, letting the warm water cascade over her skin. She relaxed only for a moment before my hand glided over her back to get the remaining soap off.

One would think her bones were going to snap through her back at any moment, for every nerve in her was pinched and strained. However, to my strange delight, her muscles began to unknot. With her newfound comfort, I found myself lost in allowing my hand to run along her back.

My fingertips brushed down her spine, and a shudder racked her frame. The response was enough to bring a smug grin to my lips. Nevertheless, I muffled it and focused on my enterprise. I studied her face, watching as her lids began to grow heavy. Before long, they closed completely.

I didn’t want to stop, but I knew that it was the most logical decision of the moment. I withdrew my hand to let out the water and returned the showerhead to its hook. Her eyes slowly opened as she realized I had stopped. I could’ve sworn that I saw disappointment cross her features, but I wrote it off, choosing to shift my attention on fetching a towel. I came back, holding the towel open for her as she carefully rose to her feet before taking the towel to wrap herself in it.

I helped her back into the bedroom, and she began to shiver again upon entering the chilly room. I set her down on the edge of the bed before wandering over to the shopping bags. I had blindly requested clothing for our stay (I wasn’t sure how long we were going to be in Rome). When I pulled out a lace negligee, I inwardly cringed at my carelessness. Never ask Italians to get you clothing.

I shoved the article of clothing back into the bag and found that all the clothing was either too inappropriate or too unsuitable to wear to bed. Hence my reasoning for digging through my pile and producing a white v-neck tee and a pair of boxers from the packages. I did, however, fish out a pair of underwear from her stash. Judging by its design, China would be better off not wearing the underwear; either way, not much of her was going to be covered.

I came back and handed them to her. She, in turn, began to tug the clothing on, shifting the towel as she did so that she would constantly be covered. To busy myself, I began to fix her a cup of water. When I turned around, I found her examining the underwear with furrowed brows.

“Two triangles held together by string. Might as well slap a leaf on my butt,” she huffed, flinging the underwear to the side before tugging on the boxers instead.  

I poked a straw into the water and brought the glass to her. Her glazed eyes landed on the glass before she reached out for it. As soon as the glass was in her hand, I noticed that the glass was wobbling in her shaky grip. Before she could spill it, I took it back and poised the straw to her lips. I knew she was frustrated at herself as her face began to get flustered, but she relented in taking a drink. She started to pull back, but I wouldn’t let her stop until she finished the water.

Her face twisted into a glare as I eased her back and propped her up with several pillows. “I’ve been rendered useless,” she grumbled as I went to get her another glass of water.

I came back, sitting on the edge of the bed beside her. Once again I made her finish it.

“You’re gonna get me water drunk,” she slurred. In response, I set the glass on the bedside table, deciding to let her off for now. One way or another, though, she was going to stay hydrated throughout the night.

I turned my attention back to her and found that her gaze was focused on nothing in particular. The room was noiseless before she voiced, “I can see why Mom resorted to it.” Her voice sounded far away even though she was right next to me. “There’s beauty in forgetting.”

I listened for her to say more, but she remained mute. “You wish to forget?”

“Sometimes.”

“Forget me?” I suggested. I hope she would say yes; yet, there was a small part of me that wished otherwise.

She blinked, clearing the haze as her eyes trailed up to me. “No, John. Never you.” Her eyes lowered to the hole near the breast pocket of my black dress shirt. “You killed a lot of people,” she noted before she soundlessly slipped her fingers into the pocket. She pulled out the very object that had kept Cassian’s blade from slashing my skin. Her fingertips brushed across the dented metal. “For protection,” she murmured with a small smile. She flipped it open and examined the photograph inside.

I watched as her lips twitched between a frown and a watery smile before she pressed her hand to her lips to muffle a reaction. Her hair shielded her eyes from my view. Inhaling a gulp of air, she let her hand fall to her lap. “I miss him,” she finally spoke.

I didn’t reply; I wasn’t going to try to console her. I have always been terrible at comforting, and I knew better than anyone that sometimes the best comfort was silence.

“I’ve missed you, too.” The words were uttered so quietly that I almost believed the wind had played a trick on me. Nevertheless, I still felt shell-shocked.

“I don’t know why,” she admitted, returning to her void.

“Familiarity.” The answer rolled off my tongue before I could think to stop it.

Her lips pursed in thought as she lowered her eyes. Suddenly, her body began to convulse in shivers. I quickly acted and began to cover her. She swatted my hands away after I had already piled the comforter on top of her.

“Don’t do that.” Her voice was slightly hoarse.

My features drew up in confusion.

“Don’t act like you care. It always confuses me.” Her hand grasped her head as another shiver racked her body. “I don’t wanna feel like that right now.”

Her eyes began to flutter close after the slurred explanation left her lips. A pang of guilt filled me as I made sense of her words. “See what I do to you?” I sighed.

Her eyes opened as she looked up at me. “I wouldn’t mind if…” She trailed off to say more, but she stopped as if a thought crossed her mind. She eventually muttered to herself, “It’s not like I’ll remember in the morning.”

Before I could make sense of her jumbled words, she leaned up and pressed her lips against mine. Her lips moved slowly as if she was savoring every inch of my mouth. I, on the other hand, remained still and simply let her do it. I should push her away, but I don’t. I shouldn’t react to her kiss, but I do.

Cupping her face, I slanted my lips over hers. She, in turn, clung to my shoulders as she pulled me closer. I found myself crushing her body to me as her frame began to quiver; I wasn’t sure if it was due to her condition or for another reason. A whimper escaped her lips, and I started to pull away. Her hold tightened, though, hindering any plans to retreat. Her fingers slithered up to curl in my hair as my tongue darted out to trace across her bottom lip. She did the same, seeming to experiment with the action for the first time. Apparently she enjoyed it, for a contented sigh escaped her lips between our movements.

After what seemed like hours, she pulled away. A genuine smile spread across her swollen lips as she whispered, “Better than whiskey.” With that, she fell limp in my arms as her eyes slid close.

My face did not reflect what I felt. Even as she slept I refused to let my mask slip. On the inside, however, I was ballistic as all these thoughts bombarded my head at once.

A shrill ring pierced though my concentration. Lowering her back down to the bed, I moved to answer the phone. I was still stuck in my thoughts as I picked up the receiver.

“I know what you’re thinking, John, and I want you to know that it’s nothing personal. I mean, what kind of person would I be if I didn’t try to avenge my sister?”

That voice snapped me out of my thoughts as rage began to take over. He started to speak, but I didn’t want to hear it. The phone released a satisfying noise as I slammed the receiver back down. I then picked it back up and dialed the lobby. “I’ll be checking out in the morning,” I informed the concierge before hanging up. My desire to strangle Santino was renewed, but it seemed to curb as my eyes landed on China’s sleeping form.

Within the slow kiss, I had indulged in that tiny desire that I had suppressed for so long. I was conflicted with indulging, with guilt, and with reason. My eyes glanced down at my ring. I should feel guilty. I shouldn’t have indulged, for I just complicated things further. I should be pushing China away, not drawing her in like this. Nothing would ever be uncomplicated if it involved China and me.

Still, as those thoughts crossed my mind, that same voice that wanted me to give in was sounding in my head. I found myself returning to sit beside her sleeping form as I tucked the covers around her. What could be the harm in our actions? Like she said, in the morning she won’t remember, and everything will be as it was.   


	6. Day Four:

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I decided to update a day early, considering this chapter was finished earlier than I expected. I hope to update by Wednesday. Your comments spurred this chapter along, and for that I thank you! Please continue to let me know what you all think (for better or for worse). I highly suggest watching the movie in order to see the fight scene in this chapter, for I feel that my descriptions alone cannot simply capture the awesome, cringe-worthy death scenes.  
> Song for this chapter is "I'm Afraid of Americans" by David Bowie and Nine Inch Nails (I thought the lyrics were a little humorous and perfect for this chapter).  
> "Johnny's in America - I'm afraid of Americans; I'm afraid of the world  
> I'm afraid I can't help it; I'm afraid I can't"  
> ___________________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

            Glaring rays of light assaulted my vision when I woke, forcing my eyes to flutter several times as they tried to block out the offensive sun. I silently cursed myself for leaving the blinds open. Then it hit me; I wasn’t in my house.

            I jerked myself into a sitting position, immediately regretting the action as millions of jabs flooded my head. My hand shot up in an attempt to massage the pain away before I took in the hotel room. Everything slowly began to come back: attending the coronation; witnessing Gianna’s suicide; the attack at the party; and brief fragments of a drunken stupor. My eyes lifted to a shadow before me. _And it all leads to you_.

            His body was turned from me as he adjusted the belt on his black slacks. The expanse of his back caught my attention, for I do believe that there wasn’t a single inch of it that wasn’t either scarred or covered in softball-sized bruises.

            A purplish bruise was forming on the back of his upper arm while a red bruised circled his bicep. Another one was crossed between a red and dark blue color; it seemed to be the most painful, seeing that it covered most of the right side of his lower back and stretched to his ribs.

            The scars were another story. There were so many – too many to count. Some were new; some were old. Whenever I had asked my dad about his own scars, he would say, “Scars are like tattoos but with better stories.” If that was true then John certainly had many stories.

            The same could be said about his tattoos. The motto across his shoulders from his time as a Marine; the hands clasped in prayer in the center of his back; the cross on his deltoid; the flaming hand on his left shoulder blade; and the howling wolf on his right shoulder blade. They had been etched into my memory ever since that night. They all had several possible meaning – ones I had found myself many times trying to decode. But, only John knew their true origins. _Has he ever revealed those stories to anyone before?_

I was pulled out of my internal babblings as John began to shrug on a white dress shirt – a stark contrast to his dark colored shirt from last night. His pain was evident in the way he moved slowly; yet, he somehow managed to make his stiff movements seem smoother and effortless. His head turned slightly as he twisted his body, and his eyes fell upon me.

            Damn him for always catching me staring at him in the worst possible moments. That must be one of his many extra senses.

            Without removing his eyes from mine, he slicked a hand through his damp hair that, in its wet state, seemed jet black. He then pulled his eyes away from me as he began to focus on buttoning his shirt.

            “How do you feel?” he inquired.

            “Aside from feeling like death warmed over? Can’t complain,” I replied as I scooted to get off the bed. As my feet touched the cool flooring, I finally noticed my apparel. Fingering the oversized white t-shirt and black boxers, I asked in an even tone, “What am I wearing, John?”

            “Clothes.”

            “I can see that. How did I get into the clothes?”

            “You put them on.”

            My eyes narrowed on him. “That’s funny because I don’t remember.” I began to recall John poking a needle in me before everything went dark. Putting two and two together, I hurled a pillow at him as I growled out, “You ass.”

            “Not quite.” He swiftly caught it without much effort. “You were being difficult,” he calmly said tossing the pillow back to the bed.

            “Doesn’t mean you drug me,” I shot back.

            “I did warn you.”

            An incredulous look swept over my face. “When?!”

            “If at any time I tell you to return to the hotel room without me, do not defy me,” he recited as he began to make the bed. “I believe ‘I’m not in the mood’ and “Get in the fucking car’ should have sufficed,” he spoke, eyes shooting to me as he adjusted the sheets.

            I tugged up the sheets on my side before we moved to do the comforter. “Neither had any implications that you were going to drug me,” I argued. I flung the pillows against the headboard, deciding to take my anger out on the poor objects.

            John simply shrugged. “Plan B.”

            I knew he was mostly honest, but there was a hint of a smug smartass in him; the desire to somehow wipe out that part was strong. Nevertheless, I decided to inhale deeply in an attempt to calm myself as we finished making the bed.

            “You need to get yourself looked at,” I pointed out, releasing the pent up anger as I slowly exhaled. His response was to finish packing a dry cleaning bag full with his weapons. “You’re not getting any younger, John. You’re going to have terrible arthritis if you don’t already,” I tried again.

             “I’ll live. There’s no time.”

            “No time? You completed the task, right?” I asked, purposely making it out like I hadn’t witnessed Gianna’s death.

            “I have some loose ends to take care of.”

            I processed his words. Apparently there had been consequences to his actions. _When are there not?_ “So, what will become of me?”

            “You’ll stick with me until I get them sorted out,” he responded as he tied up his bag.

            “And then?” I found myself asking. I wasn’t sure if I was asking about my fate or John’s and my fate after this was all over with. The fact that I was unsure upset me.

            John was silent; his back was turned towards me, and I was unable to see his expression. It’s not like I would be able to decipher it anyway. He finally straightened to his full height and handed me a garment bag. I blinked once before taking it from him. My eyes fell to the clothing that John had ordered for me. In my state of mind, I didn’t care anything about the clothing. However, in order to avoid appearing ungrateful and to take my mind off of our situation, I began to pack.

            I left all of the lingerie, considering I wouldn’t have any need for it. I packed what few articles of non-scandalous clothing I could find. Among them, I managed to scrounge a gray sweater and a pair of black skinny jeans to wear for the day. I slipped on my boots and started to stand when John plopped a black fedora on top of my head and handed me a pair of black sunglasses.

            “Keep your head down as we travel. And, for your own safety, do as I say.” The command was firm, and I nodded. He shook his head at my response. “I mean it, China.”

            “Ok, ok,” I exasperatedly let out.

            Seeming to be satisfied with my answer, he gathered his bag and carried two garment bags over his shoulder. One of the garment bags was his suit while the other held my second dress John had ordered from Angelo.

            We came to the lobby, my hat in place to shield the majority of my face from anyone’s view. Julius greeted us as we came closer to board the elevator. John reached out to shake Julius’s outstretched hand.

            “I appreciate the service.”

            Julius gave him a smile that only the perfect host could muster. “You’ll find safe passage below.”

            John and I boarded the elevator. And, as we set out on our journey, I couldn’t help but feel a foreboding that left me with a sinking feeling.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

            By the time we had touched down in New York, the night was already settling over the city. I had pulled some strings and had our belongings brought to the Continental in town.

            We were leaving the airport when gunshots rang out behind us. I had instantly bolted to shield China. A groan left my lips before I could stop it as one of the bullets (that would’ve hit China) pierced through my right side.

            We both whirled around to find that a performer had attacked. She had a black beret on and was dressed in the stereotypical French performer get-up. She launched herself at me, but I swiftly caught her arm, twisting it before breaking it. Her screams echoed throughout the airport, but no one seemed to notice or care. I pulled her into the choke hole, forcing her legs to flail out as she tried to escape. She only struggled for a split second before I snapped her neck with a twist of my hands. 

            I turned to China, noting that her complexion was as pale as a sheet. Pressing my hand to my hip, I gestured for her to follow. My movements were wedged between stumbling and long strides as I reached out to balance myself against the glass wall. My hand trailed across the glass window, leaving behind crimson finger marks as we passed by.

            We came to a café area, and it was at that time that I realized that a man had been following us. In fact, we were stuck right in the middle of two assassins. One was seated at a table; the other had been following us.

            I was quick to react, choosing to attack the man at the table first. The man at the table fumbled for his gun, but I manipulated it and shot the man that had been following us before picking up a pencil to slam in his throat. Meanwhile, the guy at the table wrapped his arms around me in a backwards bear-hug. I grabbed the other pencil of the table, landing a few jabs in order to unwind myself from the man’s hold. The man, however, threw his arms around my waist; his hands clasped down on the tender flesh on my hip, forcing more blood to seep out of the wound. I released a sort of animalistic snarl before pinning the man’s head down on the bar.

            My hands wedged the pencil down the man’s ear before I heard a sickening crunch. Feeling satisfied with the sound, I let him fall dead at my feet. I then turned to catch the oncoming man with a pencil to the neck before carting him backwards. I slammed the pencil to where the pointed end was face up and shoved the man until his neck was impaled on the pointed pencil. Yanking him off, I let him collapse to the floor beside the previously fallen hit man. I finally released the pencil and turned to China; my hair shielded my dark gaze from her.

Her expression was one crossed between horror and amazement as her eyes lifted from the dead bodies to land on me. That animalistic part of me reveled in her fear. I want her to be afraid. She needs to be afraid that way she’ll push me away – that way she’ll run away. 

We came out to what appeared to be Chinatown; I could tell China was torn between keeping her distance and staying right beside me. She chose the latter, though.

As we walked, I noticed that several people were glancing down at their phones before turning their gazes on me. We barely got far down the street before a heavyset Asian male charged forth for me. I shoved China out of the way to avoid her getting squashed by the blow. I wasn’t as lucky, for I was tossed through a glass sign, instantly shattering it upon impact.

The fat man charged for me again, catching me off guard. I fought back but was unable to grasp my bearings. Finally, I managed to grab my glock from my belt. I shot at the mass of a man, hitting him somewhere in his stomach; the bullets did nothing to deter him. Somehow, I had latched myself onto the fat man’s back, shooting several times. One of the bullets caught the top of his temple before he collapsed atop a vent.

            I pushed myself off of the man. As we started to walk away, the man let out a small groan. How the hell was he still even alive? No matter. I spun around and shot him again in the head, forever silencing the man. I pressed the hand that held my gun against my wound while my other bloodied hand grasped China’s to pull her along. We made it to an area with a grand water fountain. I didn’t even have a chance to notice where exactly we were before I noticed a figure on the other side of the fountain.

My hands tightened on both the gun and China’s hand as I found that Cassian stood with his gun at the ready. There was a silent showdown before I pushed China behind me as the water shot up to obstruct any further view of Cassian. I let off a few rounds, attempting to peer through the water to hit Cassian; Cassian did the same. With every shot, I moved us around the fountain. As the water began to die down, China and I sprinted to a building.

             Upon entering, I realized we had entered a subway station. I tugged China down an escalator, shoving pass people in the process before merging us into the cluster of commuters. We moved quickly amongst them in an attempt to blend in. I kept China towards the wall as my gaze turned towards the balcony.

Cassian had moved to the balcony; his gun was poised as he kept our pace. He shot first, firing off two shots – a challenge of sorts. I accepted the challenge, letting off two rounds from my own gun. One of the bullets hit the pillar Cassian passed by. Frustrated with the result, I tried again. Cassian returned one and continued the second after passing another pillar. The second bullet barely missed China’s head, and my grip tightened on her as I noted the fact. I responded with two more shots, sending him a “Don’t-fuck-with-me-look”.

            We bounded down a flight of stairs and came to a boarding area. A metro was waiting to board, but my gaze was focused on the two approaching men that were reaching into their suits to pull out weapons. I didn’t hesitate to shoot, catching the taller one in the shoulder before shooting the shorter in the head.

The taller one lunged for me, shooting as he did so. I barely sidestepped the bullet before disarming the man, twisting his arm behind him. I dropped to my knees for a split second, slicing the man’s groin area. I turned to finish the man, but the man kicked his legs out. In turn, I spun around to dodge it and descended. The knife in my hand buried itself in the man as I fell upon him. He struggled to gasp for air before finally ceasing to move.

            “John.” I could hear China’s wary voice breaking through my bloodlust.

I moved my attention from my previous kill, rising to my feet as I noticed Cassian appearing on the other side of the platform. Another silent showdown before the train darted between us to interrupt. When the train ceased, I waved China to follow me onto the train. I pushed her into an empty seat upon boarding, pointing a finger at her. “Stay,” I rasped before stumbling to face Cassian, who had already boarded and had his deadly gaze set directly on me.

We each grabbed onto a pole as the train began to move again. The air was completely silent aside from the occasional voice over that informed the passengers of when their destination was coming up.

The train stopped and many of the passengers exited. Cassian and I inconspicuously moved closer to one another, each grabbing another pole. My eyes kept darting towards China between my heated glare-down with Cassian. China was on the edge of her seat, awaiting a sign to help if she was needed. Cassian’s dark eyes followed mine to China. A slight tip to his lips instantly clued me into what he planned to do. 

Another load of passengers disembarked as my eyes locked onto China’s one more time while Cassian and I inched closer. I gave a slight shake of my head to both China and Cassian. Its message was clear to each: don’t even think about it.

Cassian and I simultaneously unsheathed our knives before moving to stab the other. Both of us had predicted the other’s movement; consequently, each of us had one hand poised to stab and one hand to block. Cassian pushed against my hold, thrusting his knife into my upper thigh.

I flinched, and the slip cost me my knife, for Cassian knocked it out of my hand. I returned the favor before we tousled. I couldn’t keep up with who was winning as we moved quickly. No one stayed on top long, but Cassian seemed to be gaining the upper hand before I finally managed to kick Cassian in the sternum. Cassian’s knife lashed out, but I caught it, twisting its movement and using Cassian’s momentum against him. I shoved it in, and Cassian stumbled backwards as I drove it deeper. Cassian was cornered into an empty chair; his gaze was forced to look up at me – a factor that I relished in.

 “The blade is in your Aorta. You pull it out and you will bleed and you will die,” I informed him as Cassian struggled to inhale. I moved to my full height, eyes still focused on Cassian. “Consider this a professional courtesy.” The statement held many meanings. The main one was that I was thankful that even though Cassian had threatened China, his lust for revenge was focused solely on me.

A girl towards the end of the subway darted to the exit as soon as the words left my lips. I swooped down to grab my knife before taking China’s hand in mine to haul her off of the train. My stride was hindered due to my infernal limping; I froze in my tracks, though, as I noticed two janitors were starting for us; I reacted by pulling us down another flight of stairs. I then brought us both to a dog and a bumbling hobo.

I dropped two gold coins into the man’s outstretched cup, and the hobo briefly ceased his ramblings to peer up at me. “Take us to him. Tell him it’s John Wick,” I panted out before lowering China and me to lie beside the hobo. With fleeting strength, I tugged one of the tarps from the garbage heap over us. I heard the tarp rustle as the hobo fixed it to hide us both.

I then heard two pairs of footsteps as the hobo continued on with his babblings. “Hey, you got a quarter?” The question was topped with two gunshots before I heard two thuds against the ground.

China tensed against me; her hands grabbed fistfuls of my shirt. We were pressed chest to chest; consequently, my blood was seeping through her shirt. That didn’t seem to be the center of her attention, though. My eyes began to flutter as I shivered against her.

“You’re losing blood,” she said more to herself; panic was evident in her tone.

She pulled me closer to her, flushing our bodies together in an attempt to keep me warm. One of her hands pressed down on my side in order to apply pressure; and I had to force myself to not show that the action pained me. I couldn’t deny her warmth, especially in my state. It was ironic that just last night we were almost in the same predicament, but the roles had been switched.

 “What have you gotten us into, John?” I heard her whisper as she smoothed my hair back from my sweat-slicked face.

_That’s a good_ question. I had wanted to say the thought, but it never escaped my lips. Instead, my arms wrapped around her, tightening around her as I sought her warmth. With one last shudder, I blacked out.


	7. Day Five:

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, I bring the next update!  
>  This is a bit shorter than usual; I almost combined it with the next chapter, but the next chapter is going to be extremely long as it is already (for good reason). Consequently, I almost consider this a filler chapter - yet, it's not. The Bowery King was awesome and sarcastic, and I loved the way Laurence Fishburne portrayed him.   
>  Please continue to let me know what you guys think! I enjoy hearing your theories about where the story is headed.

            Through bleary eyes I could make out a figure hovering above me. The dingy lighting didn’t help any as I tried to pick out certain features. A feminine voice sounded in my deaf ears; it was soft, soothing, and inviting. It urged me to do something, but I couldn’t exactly make out what at first.

            Pale brown eyes came into view; they seemed distressed as they focused down on me. “John…” My name rolled off her tongue, but her lips weren’t moving. Her words came out fragmented. “You have to… We need to… – wake up.” I wanted to, but the temptation to stay in this moment was too overpowering. I knew that if I woke, I would have to return to something. I couldn’t remember what that something was, but I knew that I didn’t want to face it. Still, her voice seduced me, making me want to wake up.

            “John…”

            _Maybe if I just stay here for a few more moments_ …

            “China.” The name flew off of my lips as I emerged from my daze. I lurched forth, eyes wild as I scanned the area for her. Her voice still echoed in my head, slowly dissolving along with the ringing in my ears.

            She wasn’t in the room. The fact confused me since I could’ve sworn she had just been beside me. I had heard her voice; I had seen her face. But, she wasn’t. Instead, I was greeted by a bunch of wary glances from neighboring cots as they each held his or her own wounds. It was at that moment that I was alerted to the pain in my side.

            I was shirtless, the wrappings being my only protection against the cool room. A patch was placed over the tenderest area on my body. The palm of my hand brushed over it as I recalled being shot. An IV ran into the crook of my elbow as it pumped fluids into me. Tugging the needle out, I clambered to my feet.

            I found my bloodied white dress shirt and suit jacket draped over the end of the cot I had been left in. I scooped them up, quickly tugging and buttoning them on. My hands instinctively patted myself down in search of my weapons. _Didn’t I have a knife?_ Coming up empty, I realized I was weaponless.

            My eyes swung up to find the hobo leaning against the doorframe as he watched me with calculating eyes.

            “Where is she?” I asked.

            He merely gestured for me to follow. I complied and followed him up a flight of stairs that led to the rooftop. As we came down a ramp of stairs, my gaze locked on a tall, stout man. His back was turned to us as we descended; he seemed focused on the pigeon in his hand. In fact, it seemed everyone was enamored with the mundane birds as they attached small cameras to them.

            “As I live and breathe. John Wick,” he announced, drawing out my name. “You’re not very good at retiring.” His voice was deep and had a faint accent that I could only identify as southern. He spoke as if he knew me more than just by name.

            Racking my brain to place where I had seen him before, I slowly replied, “I’m working on it.”

            “Mr. Wick doesn’t remember me,” he voiced to the hobo that had escorted me. He moved to stand before me, his index finger dwarfing the pigeon’s head as he stroked it. “Then again, we met when I was only a pawn in this world; I didn’t even hear you coming. But, you gave me a gift – a gift that would one day make me a king.” He tugged aside the collar of his shirt and his scarf, revealing a scar that ran along the side of his neck. Judging by its length, it was caused by a knife. “You gave me a choice: go after you and die or keep pressure on my neck.” He adjusted his scarf to hide the scar. “Thanks to you, no one sneaks up on me anymore, for I am all seeing and all knowing.”

            “Then you know why I’m here.”

            “Santino D’Antonio,” he enunciated the name as he put the dumb-eyed bird back in its cage. “He put a contract out on you. That’s bad for your health,” he said with a curve to his lips. “And that girl you brought with you.” He let out a low whistle before wagging his index finger at me. “You _are_ something else. Killing men left and right and screwing your dead friend’s daughter.”

            I shook my head. “There’s nothing-”

            “Nothing between you,” he finished. “Yes. So she says, too.” He gave me a look of complete amazement. “I mean, I got a good look at her, and even I have to admit –– da-yum, John! Plus, it _is_ getting a little cold out; that bed’s going to get a little chilly before long.” He gave me a wink as he released a belly laugh.

            Meanwhile, I struggled to keep my composure. He must’ve noticed, too, for his features sobered as he murmured, “It’s true then. You really do have balls of steel.”

            “Where is she?” I finally managed to say in a steady tone.

            “She’s safe and sound in my bed.”

            A deadly look crossed my features, to which he responded with a low, full chuckle. “Easy there. Don’t go killing anyone with a pencil. I’m just screwing with you.” His laughter abruptly ceased. “She practically clung to you all night, making sure you got better. I finally told her to get some sleep after we had a small _chat_.” He paused for a moment as if in thought. “For a girl that you claim to have no ties to, she sure does like to play nurse on you,” he noted, an accusation hinting in his tone. He sucked his teeth in thought before darting his eyes to the hobo behind me.

            “Earl. What’s the number up to now?”

            Earl held up seven fingers.

            “Seven million. DA-YUM!” he barked out the expletive, a puff of smoke floating off into the chilled air as he did so. He flashed me a gapped-toothy grin. “That’s Christmas. We’re going to Applebee’s after this.” His eyes raked over his small group of men that began to close in on me. “And don’t worry. I’ll get the girl a nice consolation meal. I’ll even buy her dessert; Sex-in-a-Pan sounds nice, don’t ya think?” His lips tipped up at his words.

            “You have eyes all over New York. I need you to move me underground.”

            “And why the fuck would I do that?” he deadpanned.

            “I’m asking you,” I replied.

            “Oh. To have the boogeyman himself begging.” He let out an incredulous laugh. “That’s downright upright of you. Of course, John. Anything you say, John. Would you like a nice backrub with that, John?” he asked in a sardonic tone.

            Forcing myself to not reveal any signs of disrespect, I tried again. “I can help you.”

            His lips tipped up into an amused smirk as he waved for me to follow him back inside. We came to a locker room of sorts. There were many assassins, men and women alike, gunning up.

“As you can see, I have all the help I need.” Two females came up behind him and took his coat before trading him a silk robe. “The question is,” he trailed off as he pulled on his robe. “Who in this cruel world of ours is going to help you?”

             He began to walk again, and I hesitated to follow. Nevertheless, I found myself in an armory. The Bowery King (so I heard him being referred to from one of his men) approached a window that overlooked an area. He sent me a sideways glance along with a snicker. “She sure is a live one, John. She could be a valuable asset with a bit more training.”

            I slowly came closer to the window, eyes carefully watching the Bowery King before they fell to the scene. China had a pair of earmuffs over her ears and a glock in her hand. I couldn’t hear the gun firing, but the bullet holes in the target were enough evidence. A female and male stood behind her as they watched her.

            “Let’s go say hi,” the Bowery King murmured.

            China was finishing the round off as we joined her in the room. She began to fumble with dislodging the mag before her movement ceased as she noticed me. Her eyes fell straight to me as the gun slowly lowered, no longer the center of her attention. I quickly surveyed her for any signs of abuse as I came to stand before her. Thankfully finding none, I lowered my eyes to the gun in her hand before glancing at the target. The bullet holes were sporadic, not a single one hitting the target on the head.

            “You shoot?”

            “Did. Only cans and targets, of course,” she corrected as she lowered her eyes to the gun. “Bit rusty now.” She lifted her eyes back to mine; her gaze expressed silent apprehension, and I inclined my head slightly to put her mind at ease. The edges of her lips curved slightly at my reaction before she replied with a nod of her own.

            “I believe we have business to discuss, Mr. Wick,” the Bowery King proclaimed, ripping my attention from China.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  

            The mug shots on the walls caught my attention upon entering the Bowery King’s – according to his introduction – office. The objects also earned John’s examination. Names of each of the subjects were scrawled under the photographs. There were several, but the two in the middle caught my eye. A short-haired female with the name Ares Antillia posed with an expressionless face. Her neighboring picture was that of Santino D’Antonio. Curly, dark brown hair was pushed back from his oval-shaped face. He held an air of superiority just as his sister did; from the picture, I could see the similarities between the two.

            “So, please entertain me with a reason as to why I should help you,” the Bowery King voiced, gesturing for John and me to take a seat in the chairs in front of his desk. We complied and John began his proposition.

            “Santino wants the city,” John informed him. “You honestly think he’ll stop at Twelfth Street?”

            “Well, I guess we’ll just have to take care of ourselves,” the Bowery King replied.   

            “For how long and for how much blood? If you kill Santino, the high table and Gomorrah will come for you. If I kill Santino, they’ll come for me.”

            “He’s offered seven million dollars for your life. Seven million dollars is a lot of money, Mr. Wick,” he countered.

            John shot me a sideways look before glancing at the hobo that had helped us escape the subway station. He returned his focus onto the Bowery King. “So, I guess you have a choice,” his gravelly voice pointed out. “You want a war, or do you just want to give me a gun?” His tone wasn’t haughty; it was sincere. John wasn’t completely innocent of being modest about his skills. He was reasonable, and he was aware of his capabilities.

            The Bowery King broke into a grin, rolling his eyes as he bellowed, “Somebody please… get this man a gun.” The last few words were enunciated.

            Apparently the Bowery King had a sarcastic sense of humor, for he was true to his word. He provided John with only one gun. John checked the mag to find that there were only seven bullets.

            “Seven rounds?” John asked in disbelief.

            “Seven million dollars buys you seven rounds. That’s a million dollars a round, baby,” the Bowery King justified.

            Nimble, battered hands picked the gun up and inserted the mag before cocking it into place. He shoved the gun into the waistband of his pants before turning to the Bowery King and the hobo. His hand brushed my arm as he murmured, “Let’s go.”

            The Bowery King led the way to a lift. The hobo was already waiting for us to join him.

            “Your descent into hell begins here, Mr. Wick. You’ll find Santino at his museum tomorrow night” He inclined his head towards the hobo. “Earl will guide you as far as he can. Do be careful on your way down.” The lift began to lower, and the Bowery King turned his attention to me. “Miss. Bryar, don’t forget about what we talked about.”

            I could feel John watching me from the corner of his eye, but I sobered my features. The Bowery King watched the silent exchange; a hint of a smirk was in place before he switched his focus onto John. “Oh and remember, you owe me.”

            John shook his head before warning, “You don’t want me owing you.”

Earl guided us through the underground labyrinth, which turned out to be mostly sewers, until we came to our parting destination. He handed John a map of some sorts, presumably one for the underground maze, and left without another word. Consequently, John became the navigator as we pushed on. We finally arrived at a manhole. During our brief journey, we had passed thousands alike, but John deemed this one special. Pocketing the map in his suit, he began to ascend the ladder, and I followed.

            When we surfaced, we were in the outskirts of New York. As we trekked farther, I noticed that the area was becoming extremely familiar. Before long, I knew exactly where we were as we approached an open area. In the distance, I could see my father’s farmhouse – the very one he had left me before he had died.

            A mixture of joy and relief flooded through me as we came closer, and I had to stifle my urge to full-on sprint towards my house. I was so caught up in my emotion that I didn’t even question how John knew I lived here. I was just enthused that it hadn’t faced the same fate that my shop had. Upon remembering my shop, a brief sense of gloom killed my previous mood.

            Shoving it away, I said, “I thought you said it wasn’t safe.”

            “One night can’t hurt.”


	8. Night Five:

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, lovelies! Here it is. This chapter is longer than usual, but there is a purpose. I was suppose to upload this tomorrow, but circumstances will not make it so.  
> Songs for this chapter are "Wish You Were Here" by Pink Floyd, "Philosophy" by Beth Waters", and "Until It Hurts" by Fransisca Hall.  
> I love all of your comments and reactions! Please let me know what you think! Next update will be Monday (Central Time).  
> _____________________________________________________________________________________________________

            “One night can’t hurt,” he murmured as his eyes raked over the expanse of land, taking in the pond, the barn, and the house. I tried to imagine how everything looked through his eyes.

            He probably felt a sensation of déjà vu, for I had left everything the way Dad had when he had given it to me. Dad, of course, hadn’t changed anything since that night when I was sixteen. In a sense, it’s almost as if nothing has changed. Despite wishing otherwise, John hadn’t changed a bit. I really haven’t changed either – older, yes. Only times have really changed.

            I used the spare key under the rug to get in, seeing as my original was with the key to my car. The door swung open, and I just stood there. This was a bad idea. Standing in the doorway with John, all those suppressed memories hit me full force. John didn’t seem to mind the delay, for he just raked his eyes over each and every article that was visible.

            I forced my wobbly knees to work and began to move through the house with John following me from a distance. It seemed we were both tiptoeing around as if we were afraid to disturb an imaginary resident. For the first time in a year, I saw the house in a completely different point of view.

            The house seemed depressing now. Before, I had locked those emotions away, but with John present, all of them resurfaced. We passed the stairs and I recalled Sam and his men breaking into the house before John had disposed of them all. That was the first time I had witnessed him kill.

            A shiver shot down my spine, and I hugged myself to muffle it. “It’s a bit chilly in here,” I murmured before moving to fix the thermostat.

            John was still quietly scrutinizing every object. Despite it being my house, John made me feel like _I_ was the one that was out of place. I awkwardly shifted my weight on my feet as I took interest in the hardwood flooring.

            I drifted to the kitchen and surveyed my fridge and pantry. It seemed like it had been months since I had last been home. I had forgotten that I had planned to go grocery shopping the night my shop was attacked; consequently, the pickings were slim.

            I took down the last two cans left in my pantry before pulling out a box of unopened cereal, officially cleaning out my pantry. The fridge offered a few slices of cheese, a stick of butter, and a half empty milk jug. To my surprise, the date was still good. Upon opening the microwave, I managed to scavenge four slices of bread that were still eatable.

            “Oh, hard times,” I sang softly, smirking at my own private joke.

            I heard the rustle of fabric, and I knew that John had entered the kitchen. A quick glance over my shoulder confirmed my suspicions as I found him leaning against the door frame. I turned my focus back on opening the cans.

            In my best French accent, I announced, “Tonight's menu consists of three courses. To start, we will have céréale followed by grilled cheese and then tomato soup perfected by Chef Campbell himself.” I poured the two cans of soup into a pot and began to heat it up on the stove. I then began to prepare the grilled cheese. “And if you really want to get fancy, you can combine the second and third course.”

            I turned to find that he was watching me work with an amused twinkle to his eyes. “You’ve outdone yourself.”

            I gave a mock bow before fixing two bowls of cereal. Once done, I held out his bowl to him. “Bon appétit.”

            He took the bowl and began to eat. A grin spread to my lips, and I couldn’t help by watch him. John caught this and quirked a brow in question.

            I shook my head. “Nothing. It’s just… John Wick eating cereal.”

            “What about it?” he pressed, lifting another spoonful to his lips.

            “It’s just so… mundane, I guess.”                                   

            “I am human,” he defended.

            “I know. It’s just,” I trailed off as I turned to flip the grilled cheese sandwiches. “It’s easy to forget sometimes.”

            Silence settled in the air, and neither of us made an attempt to break it. We took dinner in the dining room that I have yet to use during my year’s residency. The previously mentioned silence stretched over into our meal, but neither us seemed to mind.

            After dinner, I took our plates into the kitchen to clean up. John followed and settled himself next to me as I started to wash up. As soon as I finished scrubbing a dish, he would take it from me to rinse it, dry it, and finally return it to the cabinets. _Another mundane task for the infamous John Wick_ , I thought in order to distract myself from our close proximity.

            Upon finishing our task, I found myself leading John into Dad’s wine cellar. Dust had settled over the various bottles – a clue that I hadn’t touched the room during my stay. I gestured for John to choose one since I was unsure of his preferences in wine. He went straight to a rack, reaching behind one of the shelves to pull out a bottle of Bourbon.

            “Still here,” he murmured, dusting off the bottle.

            We moved to the living room. I stood awkwardly in the center of the room as John began to pour us two glasses. Deciding to do something with myself, I flipped on Dad’s record player. The last tracks I had listened to were still in the turntable. The needle automatically descended onto the record, and the smooth, authentic sound began to pour through the room.

            “Vinyl,” John noted.

            “You know Dad,” I hummed.

            He started to hand me the glass but hesitated, pulling the glass back before I could grasp it. “Perhaps not.”

            I rolled my eyes, pretending to survey his belt. “As long as you’re not thinking about drugging me.”

            He cocked his head in thought, but he finally handed me the drink before seating himself on the sectional. I followed suit, but I sat on the other end. I fingered the glass as I listened to the guitar intro. My eyes drifted to John to find his head leaned back. His eyes were heavy lidded as he gazed at the space before him. This was as close to relaxed as he was going to get.

            **“ _So, so you think you can tell… Heaven from Hell… Blue skies from pain_.”**

The lyrics began to drift into the air. I inhaled deeply before asking, “How’s the wound?”

            “I’ll live,” he uttered as he remained in his semi-state of relaxation.

            _Of course_. Another round of silence stretched out.

            “Did he harm you?”

            “Pardon?”

            “The Bowery King.”

            I shook my head. “No. He’s just dirty-minded. When I tended bar, I would consider him one of my easy customers.”

            “What did he say to you?”

            I shifted in my seat, cocking my head to the side as I studied him. “I think it’s unfair for me to go through all of your questions when you never answer any of mine.” The statement sent a wave of déjà vu over me.

            He watched me from lowered lids. “Very well. Shoot,” he muttered before taking a swig of his drink. The sensation was confirmed. We had been in this moment before. Different house, different time, different topics – same situation.

            I hesitated a moment, sifting through all possible questions that I had. There were so many, but I know that he wouldn’t answer the majority of them.

            “Why does Santino have a marker on you?”

            “He ensured that I could get out of this world.”

            “Your impossible task,” I murmured, recalling the stories. “Did you enjoy it? The normalcy?”

            As expected, he didn’t answer right away. “I did, but it was far better than I deserved.” There was a sense of hopelessness in his tone – one that was slightly heartbreaking. If I was a stranger, I wouldn’t have caught it.

            “How did you end up in this world?”

            “I was emancipated at sixteen; joined the Marines at seventeen.” He shrugged. “By twenty, I found myself here.”

            “How did you meet my father?”

            John took interest in his glass, pausing as if he was recalling a memory. “Same way I meet most people; I was sent to kill him.” A smirk spread across his lips as he caught my reaction. “Your father was good with guns, but without them…”

            “But, you didn’t kill him,” I pointed out slowly, still processing his words.

            No response. Once again I was reminded that Death could be merciful. _But why?_

More than anything, I wanted to ask about his wife, but I knew better. I would be out of line, and John wouldn’t answer. Plus, I was afraid that if I did, I would be pushed further away. John liked his privacy; the fact that he was letting me ask him questions was mind-blowing enough.

            “What? All questioned out?” he inquired. Apparently I had been so drenched in my thoughts that I hadn’t realized how much time had ticked by in silence.

            I shook my head. “Never, but with you it’s always a matter of asking the right questions.”

            He rubbed his beard, but he didn’t reply. I adjusted myself on the couch and took a sip of the Bourbon. _One_.

            “He told me to be careful.” I took interest in a picture on the wall. “He told me to be careful when it comes to you; that’s what he told me that after he asked me a question.” I ran my thumb across the rim of my glass. “Everyone has been asking the exact same question: ‘What are you to John Wick?’” I quoted.

            “And?”

            “I really haven’t had an answer.” I ran my tongue across my lips as I recalled the Bowery King’s warning. On one hand, there was no one in the world that I felt I could trust. Once upon a time, John seemed to be one of the few that I could. Lately, though, I don’t know anymore.

            I thought of Gianna. _“There was a time not so long ago in which I considered us as friends.”_ They were friends. He didn’t necessarily kill her, but it didn’t seem to faze him to pull the trigger. If he could kill her even though they were supposedly friends, what did that say for me?

            _If John lost you, I’m afraid he would snap, and there would be no return for him._ Dad’s words echoed in my head. Even now the thought seemed absurd.

            _Two_. I took another sip. “How do you do it, John? The killing,” I clarified softly, turning my eyes to look upon him.

            He returned my gaze, and without blinking, he replied, “I don’t feel.”

            The intense honesty sent a tremor down my spine as I thought about his religious tattoos. “Do you believe in God?” I whispered, eyes searching his face.

            “Even the devil believes in God.”

            _Touché_. “The line between good and evil is blurred in this world,” I stated, staring ahead. “You’re ruthless, John,” I said in all honesty before shaking my head slowly. “But I don’t believe you’re evil.”

            He quirked a brow. “No?”

            “You have hope. It’s small, but it’s there.” I pressed my lips together. “It’s what holds you back from being a completely emotionless machine.” I bit down on my bottom lip. “I hope you never lose it,” I admitted quietly.

            _Three_. Last pull. I relished the taste of the Bourbon, inhaling deeply through my nose. “You know, as morbid and crazy as it is, if I was to be killed, I think I would want it to be by you.”

            The stillness was palpable as my words floated, refusing to dissolve. “Do you really mean that?” he asked, voice deprived of any emotion.

            I didn’t meet his eyes. “Do I?” I countered, turning his question against him. I finally forced my eyes to meet his. He seemed to have been waiting for me to do so; after all, he was a patient man.

            “I don’t know,” he finally answered.

            I cracked a smile. “Aren’t you suppose to be ever calculating – a mind reader? Know my thoughts before I know my own?”

            The ends of his lips tipped into a faint smile. “No one can do that, China. Not if you don’t even know what you want.”

            “Come on, John,” I chided. “Surely there’s something.

            “Not with you,” he murmured, moving to his feet. He came to a stop in front of one of the windows that provided a view of the pond and the barn. My smile slowly fell as I watched him study the scenery. I waited for his response. I waited for so long that I began to believe he wasn’t going to give me one.

            “I always think that I do, but as soon as I grasp something,” he trailed off, flicking his eyes back to me. “You surprise me and slip away.”

            His gaze pierced through me, causing my lungs to constrict. I forced myself to exhale, lowering my eyes to the glass in my hand. I focused on the small bit of Bourbon left as it swirled in my unsteady grip.

            I placed my glass on the side table, a distraction to hide my nervous energy. Dammit! I had sworn to myself to I wouldn’t act on those feelings that I had tried to conceal. I had sworn that I wouldn’t let them dominate me again. I had put them all behind him – at least, I thought I had. I wouldn’t let them resurface; I had to stop this.

            “We should-” My words fell when I caught sight of his face. Ever intense. I briefly wondered if I had the same unnerving effect of him. Mustering up my nerve, I continued, “We should get to bed.” I inwardly cringed at my statement. Couldn’t I have stated that in other words?

            Pretending I didn’t notice my mistake, I moved to the bottom of the stairs. “There’s a spare bedroom upstairs.”

            He returned to the sectional. “I’ll take the couch.”

“There’s another shower upstairs in the guest bedroom that you’re more than welcome to use. I’ll get you some of Dad’s old clothes,” I offered.

He nodded, and I went upstairs to shower. I went to my room to grab some pajamas before digging out some clothes for John. I placed them in the guest bath before entering the other bathroom. I closed the door behind me and began to shuck off my clothing. Passing the divider in the room, I felt as if I was entering a dream as I recalled that night. I moved under the showerhead, allowing the hot water to pull me out of the memory.

After I finished scrubbing myself down, I just leaned against the cool stone of the shower stall. My traitorous mind forced John’s words into my head. _“As soon as I grasp something, you surprise me and slip away.”_

What was that suppose to mean? In the heat of the moment, I took his words literally. I mean, circumstances had made us part, but what exactly did we have in the first place to drift from? Not only that, but how dare he talk?! He’s the one that slips away! Seriously! Just when I think that we’re getting somewhere, something happens and drops us back to level one. I think I know him for a moment, and then the next moment, I realize that I don’t.

There was one thought that bugged me the most. Even if I hadn’t slipped away – even if none of these events happened – could John and I ever have a future? In the past, I would have immediately written it off. Even now, I still want to, for it’s only natural. It was obvious that the answer was no. Yet, the future is so uncertain, especially with John. As immortal as he seems, he’s still human; he’s still only a man. Every day could be the last for either one of us.

On top of all of this, the Bowery King’s words had made me really delve into my relationship with John. John still hasn’t told me what will happen with me after this is all over with. I can’t lie; there is a part of me that is terrified of John and his capabilities. Even still, I believe that deep down I was honest when I had said what I did to John. I think I would honestly want John to be the one to kill me if I was destined to die in this world because I would hate the idea of a complete stranger doing it.

I came out of the shower, drying off before changing into a pair of sweatpants and a baggy t-shirt. Still caught up in my thoughts, I emerged into the hallway. I was thrown back into the present when I almost bumped into John. His hair was wet as he ran a towel through it. I found that he only had accepted the black t-shirt I had given him, for he still wore his black slacks. I guess the pants must have not worked.

His eyes flicked down on me, hand still poised to dry his hair with the towel. I couldn’t help but fold my arms over my chest, for I briefly realized I wasn’t wearing a bra. We remained like that, frozen in the hall. Unlike usual, though, I was fine with his stare. I didn’t lower my eyes. Instead, I held his gaze, wishing that I could see into his head – to at least know one of his secrets. It would give me an advantage for once.

I can’t help but think how enigmatic he seems with the dim lighting surrounding him. Then again, it’s not much different from usual. John watched me as I stood before him. He didn’t make an attempt to speak. Any other person would probably think I looked psychotic standing before him with wide eyes. Hell, John may even think so, too. However, his slightly slacked frame told me that he had a hunch this was coming.

“You said I slipped away,” I finally spoke. He didn’t reply. I didn’t let it stop me. I inhaled deeply. “What if things had been different?” I hesitated a moment before gesturing between us. “Us. What if we had been different?” I stepped closer. “What if we had never been interrupted that night? Would you have still made me a fool?” I continued before he could stop me. “What if we didn’t know each other? Would you then stop looking at me like I’m still that girl?”

“China.” His voice was low, almost a warning.

“Would I be an enemy? Another potential hit on a list?” I couldn’t stop myself from speaking as I thought of Gianna.

His eyes briefly slid close. I could’ve sworn he had… flinched. His eyes flicked back open, any trace of the illusion gone. He was silent for a moment. “You speak of things you know nothing about,” he sighed softly as if I was merely a child he was explaining a difficult situation to.

I blinked, an incredulous expression seizing my features. “ _I_ speak of things I know nothing about?” I shook my head. “You have no idea how frustrating it is to care about you, John! _You_ are the one that always slips away,” I seethed at him, jabbing my finger at his chest. “You start screwing with my emotions, manipulating me until I feel something for you – until I _care_ about you. Then you leave! I’ve tried to start over every time! But you waltz right back into my life, guns a blazing. Every wall I try to build up against you is knocked down, and I roll out the red carpet to welcome you! All these questions I ask are things I have to actually consider. What would be the difference if we were strangers? Either way, the result would probably be the same. You. Wouldn’t. Care,” I croaked out.

“Enough!”

The next moment, my back was slammed against the wall – not hard enough to harm, but hard enough to warn. My gaze swung up to John as he towered over me. His hands pinned my wrists above my head, forcing me up on my tiptoes because of his height advantage. My chest was arched against his, and the reaction that shot through my body fueled my anger.

Tears of rage and sorrow were streaming down my cheeks. I was prideful, but dammit, I have earned myself a few tears. I never lowered my eyes. I was livid, and I wasn’t going to back down. Once and for all I was gonna get some closure.

His eyes seemed pitch black, but upon seeing the tears, he calmed. His hands slowly uncurled; one of them trailed down until it rested on the column of my throat. His thumb brushed against my hammering pulse as the air grew quiet once more.

My lips parted as my eyes slid shut, briefly allowing myself to enjoy his thumb smoothing over my collarbone. My mind wandered to those distant corners of itself where nothing really mattered – where the lips spoke what the mind really wanted to say. I then opened my eyes; my hand covered John’s to slide it closer to cup my neck. His eyes watched our movements.

“Would you kill me, John?” I kept on, lowering my voice. “Would it be slow or quick? Would you use a knife or gun, or would you do it with your own bare hands?”

His dark, cold stare was unreadable. I felt his warm hand clasp my throat, applying just a bit of pressure. Never enough to hurt, only to hint at his capabilities.

“All your ‘what ifs’.” John’s eyes remained stony and unreadable. “Is that all you paint me out to be in your scenarios? The heartless ‘boogeyman’ that gets a thrill at seeing you in pain?”

The question briefly rendered me breathless. My throat constricted as I swallowed, inhaling the scent of soap that lingered on his skin. “There is another,” I replied slowly.

His eyes were narrowed, waiting to take the next shot I had coming. I held his eyes. With a heart that beat at the pace of a rabbit’s, I smashed my lips to John Wick’s lips.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

            I was engulfed by her as she pulled my head down to crash her lips against mine. Like I said, she always surprises me. She was doing this… consciously.

            I was still processing everything. China’s lips moved against mine, confidently as first. Slowly, her movements became hesitant as she realized I wasn’t returning. She began to pull away. Before she could, one of my arms snaked around her waist, crushing her against me.

            The movement caught her off guard, causing her to let out a soft sound against my lips. I took that opportunity to act, sliding my tongue between her lips. Her mouth opened wider as she released another sound of astonishment. _Tit for tat, China_.

            I felt a frenzy wash over me as I practically devoured her lips. She returned my fervor once she grasped her bearings. This wasn’t like the kiss from the night before last; it wasn’t sweet and gentle. Our lips were forceful, bruising the other’s as we each fought for dominance. It seemed China was waging a strange war against me, punishing me for all the hell I had put her through.

            She reluctantly pulled away from my lips. Each of us was struggling to inhale, our chests rising frantically. I was rebellious, attempting to join our lips once more. She almost welcomed it, but she turned her head down, causing me to catch her forehead. Her hands were braced loosely against my chest as if her resolve would fall at any moment.

            “We – we should talk about this. I – I mean…” Her chest was brushing against mine with each rise, causing my patience to run thin. “We should be reasonable… right?” she panted.

            I tightened my hold on her waist. My other hand crept up to cup her cheek, thumb gliding over her cheekbone. Perhaps she was right. If I had a clearer mind, I could see her reasoning. However, I had shut off reason. I was only listening to what I wanted.

            A smirk crossed over my lips as I tilted my head to the side. My voice came out as a rasp, “Do I look reasonable to you?”

            Her pale brown eyes widened, but I didn’t give her a chance to mull it over. Instead, I cupped the back of her head, gently yanking her damp locks in my hand. With the angle, I was able to capture her lips again. My hands traveled down to cup her rear, sliding down to clasp the backs of her thighs. With a single lift, I had her held up against the wall. Our lips only brushed once more before China pulled back again, almost forcing an agitated groan out of me.

            Her eyes were apprehensive, and I immediately stopped. Her eyes dipped to her splayed fingers against my chest. “I don’t know how to feel,” she admitted quietly, almost shyly.

            Catching her meaning, I felt that sense of guilt once again. I lifted my eyes to her level, catching hers. I wanted her to be completely sure about… whatever this was. I didn’t want her to have any regrets. “I’ll show you, if you’ll let me,” I murmured.

            Her fingers moved slightly as she gazed at me with those doe eyes. Finally, she nodded. I shook my head. “I want you to be sure, China.”

            There was a pause before a grin tugged at her lips. She leaned her head down to press several light kisses on my lips, trailing her lips along my cheek until she came to my ear. “Show me,” she breathed against my ear, wrapping her legs around my waist and her arms around my neck.

            She turned to look into my eyes. In turn, I carried her towards the room which I assumed was hers. I placed her on the edge of the bed, kneeling before her. She leaned down, cupping my face between her small hands before we moved to join our lips again. My hands glided to her hips as she quickly moved to sit on her knees. Her hands reached for my shirt before she began to pull it off.

I noticed that her eyes almost glowed as she got to look her fill. Her hands lifted and began to explore my torso, her eyes following her movements. Her gaze softened as it lowered to the bruises and scars on my hips and ribs. Lithe fingers gingerly brushed over the bullet wound that I had received yesterday. Then, she lowered her head to press her lips against the bruises, the scars, and the wound.

            She finally pulled back, hooking her index fingers on the belt loops of my pants to tug me closer. I quirked a brow at her eagerness. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t stirred.

Helping her slide my slacks down, I stood before her in only boxers. Her pants were next. I came closer to her, my hands balling up the hem of her t-shirt. Tugging it over her head, I tossed it somewhere behind me.

My gaze fell to her pale pink nipples, appreciating the swell of her breasts. Her shape was that of an hour glass, having bigger hips and a bigger bust than her waist itself. She had always had a curvy figure. With time, however, she had ripened like a fresh fruit. She had a bit of meat on her, but even as she was sitting before me, I noticed the slight protrusion of her ribs. Her figure seemed contradicting to her modest demeanor.

Apparently I had been staring too long – long enough for China to start losing her resolve. Her arms began to snake across her chest, hiding herself from me. I was reminded of that incident all those years ago.

My hands circled her wrists, gently prying her arms from her torso. I held her gaze, shaking my head. “Don’t hide yourself from me, China,” I said, repeating those same words that I had that night.

I gently pushed her back until she was splayed out on the bed. I leaned back slightly to marvel at how angelic she seemed with light brown waves fanning out around her head and her almond colored eyes peering up at me. Her arms outstretched slightly, a silent invitation – one that I could never refuse. The bed dipped beneath my knee as I slowly crept to hover over her. I raked my eyes over her completely, briefly unsure of where to start.

I was pulled out of my thoughts as her hands began to slide up my abdomen, stopping just at my shoulders. Her eyes lifted as she slid her fingers into my hair, pulling me down ever gently to meet her lips. The simple action was innocent, except it somehow seemed so sensual.

            She slowly withdrew from the kiss. Her lips spread into a devious grin as she bowed her head, lowering her mouth to my chest. She trailed down until her lips locked around my nipple, causing a quick intake of breath on my part. I felt her lips against my skin as they tipped up into a smirk as if she was saying, “Payback.” She drew back with the glint in her eye, a brow raised in challenge.

            “My turn,” I crooned in her ear, lowering myself to her breasts. Before she could register the statement, my mouth descended upon the bud of her left breast. I tried to fight the urge to snicker as I heard her gasp resonate through her chest. My hand lifted to her other breast, cupping the soft flesh with a calloused palm. I couldn’t help but notice how the swell fit perfectly in my hand. My thumb brushed over her nipple while my tongue darted over the other. I repeated the process with the other breast, changing positions.

            It didn’t seem like long before she began to arch into the sensation, her stomach brushing against my chest as she did so. A sense of pride swept over me as a moan originated in the back of her throat. Unable to resist, I gently bit down on the swollen bud. I was rewarded as that throaty moan finally passed her lips as she sucked in a breath.

            With the smirk on my lips, I moved down, pressing my lips against her stomach. I finally came to stop between her thighs, clasping one in my grasp. I lowered my lips to the inside of her thigh, my stubble brushing against the skin. Her other leg twitched, almost in an attempt to keep me from going any farther, but my shoulders hindered the movement, keeping her legs apart. My fingers slithered to the waistband of her underwear as I began to tug them down. Her hips lifted involuntarily; her eagerness never failed to amuse me.

            My eyes locked with hers as I descended. Realization dawned, and those beautiful orbs seemed to widen to the size of saucers. Once again, her movements were hindered by my shoulders as I began. She squirmed, but I merely held her still. It wasn’t long before she began writhing beneath me, a heavenly mewling noise caressing my ears.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

            I gazed up at the ceiling with wide eyes. My limbs felt near useless as they tried to revive themselves from the previous encounter. _Man of many skills, indeed._ John’s face slowly came into my line of vision as he hovered above me. A hint of a faint smile graced his lips before he lowered them to mine.

I was still briefly stunned by his previous actions. Finally, I managed to participate in the kiss. His hand caressed my bicep, sliding down to cup my hand. He draped my arm around his neck, bringing him closer to me. My stomach constricted as I felt his warm chest against it; my already sensitive breasts began to ache upon the tops of his pectorals brushing against them.

His tongue brushed against mine as we savored our mouths' embrace. My other arm looped around his neck, joining the other. His thigh pushed against my pelvis, forcing me to gasp as my hips involuntarily responded by thrusting forth slightly. We finally separated. I knew what was coming next. However, I wasn't scared. In fact, I was practically shaking in anticipation.

He wedged his body between my thighs, broad frame widening their distance from one another. He glanced up, dark eyes meeting mine before we became one.

I sucked in a breath as my thighs clenched around his hips while my grip tightened on his neck as I tried to level myself. A growl sounded, vibrating throughout me as he buried his face in the crook of my neck. The sensation was almost too much, but I found myself sinking into bliss as his hips began to slowly move.

My arms wound around his shoulders as our lips blindly sought the other's. My hips naturally moved up to meet his, matching every move he made. It wasn't long before the pace became agonizingly slow. I wanted more – needed more, and I knew John felt the same.

"Please," I moaned against his lips, the sound reverberating through both of us.

His hand clasped the back of my thigh as he lifted my leg higher. The action allowed for a better position. With every thrust of his hips, I could’ve sworn he was sinking deeper. It came to the point where I couldn’t tell where he ended and I began. The notion of being closer to him is what made the action so intimate.

His pace picked up, and my legs wrapped around his hips to pull him closer and to hold on. The heels of my feet began to dig into his lower back in an attempt to keep that sensation at bay for just a bit longer – to make this moment last as long as possible. I didn't even realize it, but before long, my nails began to dig into his shoulder blades. He didn't seem to notice, though, for he remained caught up in the moment.

Those feral instincts in him were rising to the surface. I could feel it as his movements became merciless. His hands seized mine, pinning them next to my head. Both of our hands gripped the other's in a bruising grip. He parted from my lips to look down on me with those dark eyes that were shadowed by strands of hair. His eyes reflected an animalistic and hungry gaze. In that moment, I felt more like the meek prey that had stumbled into the beast’s nest. Even still, I couldn’t find it in me to be terrified. I didn’t want him to have to censor his true nature when I was around. This was who he was, and deep down, I knew I wanted this; I wanted him – _all_ of him.

Suddenly, I felt that sensation wash over me; although, this time I didn't fight it. It was similar to a euphoric sensation -- the sensation a druggee gets upon reaching that high after being deprived of his or her favorite drug for so long. John felt it, too, for he tensed against me, his grip becoming impossibly tighter.

"Let go, John," I whispered softly between breaths, urging him to stop holding back.        

That was it – the one statement to push him over the edge, causing us to spiral down from our high together. A cry left my lips and a throaty groan mixed with a growl left his while we rode out the high.

He finally relaxed into my hold. His grip slowly loosened as his head fell to rest in the crook of my neck. His warm breath ghosted over my throat, causing goose bumps to break out over my skin. My fingers snaked up to play with the strands of damp hair that fell just at his shoulders as I fought to catch my breath. He, in turn, lowered his head to rest against my chest. At this position, I could feel his heart beating against my rib cage. The beat lulled me into a drowsy state as I continued to absentmindedly stroke his hair.

"Your heart is pounding," he breathed, almost as if he didn't mean for me to hear his marveling.

A smile graced my lips as sleep swept over me. Before I went, I think I murmured, "Because I'm happy."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_"Because I'm happy_."

Her words replayed in my head repeatedly as I watched her sleep in my arms. I had eased her to the point where her head was cradled in the crook of my arm. We've been in this position for hours; she sleeping soundly while I've been unable to join her due to my too alert senses.

I glanced down at her sleeping form; she seemed too peaceful to be in my arms. Her chest barely rose and fell as she entered deep sleep. Her long lashes would occasionally flutter, and her full lips would pucker slightly. Every once and a while, her hands would furl against my chest before she curled further against my frame.

Her hair tickled my lips, and I couldn't help but smooth the stray hairs from her face. Her scent hit me with the action. Pomegranate-scented shampoo. Focusing on her features, my mind began to drift to our actions.

I kept expecting to feel guilt, but there was none. That voice of reason had thankfully been muted long ago. I honestly had no regrets, but I still did have mixed feelings about the situation as I glanced down at the golden band.

China’s line of questions disturbed me. I would be lying if I said I wasn't shaken by her opinion of me. Then again, I can't blame her. I hadn’t really presented her with a kind, gentle image. I knew she had been watching when Gianna committed suicide. That cold part of me _wanted_ her to see so that she would know I wasn't playing games.

And, I had answered her questions honestly. Killing doesn’t bother me; it never had, and it probably never will. However, I didn't want to kill Gianna, but I knew I would have. Thankfully, she had done the job for me. But, China took it as I wouldn't hesitate to kill her no matter the circumstances. That's what I aimed for – to push her away. I had aimed to convince both of us that her fate was never guaranteed as long as she stayed with me. Then again, I wasn't making the situation any easier on either of us.

Not only that, but when we had made love, I lost myself. The same animalistic instinct that comes over me whenever I kill had claimed me. I didn't want that for China. She didn't deserve that. That was a side of me that I never showed anyone – not even Helen – but my targets. What perplexed me, though, is that she hadn't cowered from me. Instead, she had accepted me.

That fact made me wonder if I had shown myself fully like that to Helen if she would have accepted me. She was a gentle, fragile soul just like China. I didn’t even tell her half the things that I had told China until our second year of being married. She knew that I had had skeletons in my closet; other than that, I had kept her in the dark. She had seen the guns, but she had thought that they were all from my days in the Marines. She never questioned how the money came, either; I don’t think she wanted to know.

When the illness had begun to take her again, she would always tell me that she wanted me to move on when she passed. She had made her peace, and she knew she didn’t have long; I knew it, too, but I didn’t want to believe it. When she sent Daisy, she reminded me in the note that I would need something – someone – to love.

I traced the planes of China’s face, memorizing every detail. Her heart shaped face; her almond shaped eyes; her long lashes; and full pink lips. If killing Gianna was hard for me, China’s death would start World War III. I know I can never do it. I need her. She was that last link to normalcy – the last hope she had spoken about earlier. I believe she always had been, and Marcus had known, too. Still, I knew that no matter how many people I killed to protect her, I could never guarantee her safety from the world.

The decision should be simple, but it wasn’t. "Because I can never let you go again," I sighed, pressing my lips against her temple.

      Inhaling her scent, I decided I would stop worrying about the decision. For now, I would enjoy the few, fleeting moments that I would have left with her.


	9. Day Six:

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next to the last update. We're almost coming to an end, and I have mixed feelings! Song for this chapter is "Denial Waits (Danny Lohner remix) by Ashes Divided (Seriously, the lyrics just match China and John's relationship, in my opinion)..  
>  "Run away from the way that you love me. With no regrets, just walk away don't wanna hear that you're sorry."  
> ______________________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

            I fought waking up for some time, choosing to linger between sleep and consciousness. However, as my hands drifted to the space beside me, I found that the sheets were cold. That forced me awake as I searched the room.

            He wasn’t here, and judging by the temperature of the sheets, he had been gone for some time. I could’ve written it off as a dream – a very intense, intimate dream – because nothing remained of him. He had taken his scent and his warmth with him. Only the memory and the soreness remained.

            _Of course._ As I turned my attention towards my bedroom window, my eyes began to water. _Nothing has changed, and once more, I’m the fool_. The tears began to cloud my vision, and I angrily swatted them away. “It was just a dream,” I murmured in an attempt to convince myself to stop the tears. _A really good dream_.

            “No, not a dream.”

            The low voice made me freeze as I slowly lifted my gaze to the doorway. There he was; his broad frame was clad in his slacks and the t-shirt that I had given him last night. With him clothed, I was still prepared to accept the possibility that it was a dream on my part and that he had just slept downstairs. Yet, I couldn’t stop the hammering of my heart and the relief I felt when I heard his words; hell, I had already started to feel all that when I realized he was still here. It was easier to accept that last night was a dream because it simply seemed too surreal.

            He lingered at the doorway as if he was contemplating giving me space to digest everything. However, the notion must have flown over him, for he began to slowly advance towards the bed. I watched every move he made, still waiting for him to disappear at any moment. Yet, as he lowered himself to sit on the edge of the bed next to me, I knew he was here.

            “I had some things to sort out,” he explained.

            I nodded, lowering my eyes to my clasped hands. I could feel his eyes watching me, but I couldn’t bring myself to meet his eyes. I was still recovering from the possibility that he had left. It shouldn’t have bothered me, but it did. I had a feeling that there would be no return to last night. As of this morning, he probably made it his mission to start pushing me away again.

            A warm, calloused hand brushed over mine before clasping it in his. At that, I had no choice but to finally look up. Upon seeing that his mask was in place, I was almost tempted to break down into tears, but I was too prideful for that.

            “No regrets?” he murmured.

            Honestly? I shook my head. “None.”

            He nodded, brushing his thumb over my wrist. The thumb moved in circles, tracing the veins in my wrist. Those cursed tears almost fell, but I didn’t allow them to. It shouldn’t hurt this much to accept that last night would have to remain a memory. I wanted to ask John if he had any regrets, but I was afraid of what the answer would be, especially when I looked down at the golden band on his ring finger.

            “Did I hurt you?”

            I couldn’t help but crack a smile. “I’ll live,” I quoted his trademark reply.  “Besides, you should be worried about whether I hurt you,” I murmured, gesturing to where his wound was.

            He smirked. “I’ll live,” he repeated.

            We shared a look. I wanted to ask him if last night would change anything, but knowing John, I already had a feeling that it wouldn’t. Furthermore, I didn’t want to ruin this moment with questions; I knew it would damper my mood even more.

            He took my hand before rising to his feet. “Come on.”

            I hesitated to adjust the bed sheet around my body. Even if he had seen me naked last night, I still couldn’t help the habit. John made note of this, but he didn’t say anything. Instead, he led me to the bathroom. He brought me pass the divider and to the entrance of the shower – the very scene of the beginning of our complicated relationship.

            He twisted the knobs until he was pleased with the water’s temperature and pressure. When he was done, he began to take off his shirt. His back was to me, and I could see the faint crescent marks on his shoulder blades. _Wow, I really had left a mark on him._ I was brought to the present as he began to take off his pants. He then turned towards me, and I hesitantly let the sheet fall to the floor before allowing him to lead me into the stall.

            The water instantly soaked our hair as we stepped under the stream. I was grateful for the warmth that began to spread across my skin. I glanced up at John who was peering down at me. He wordlessly reached behind me to grab one of the shampoo bottles. Placing a fair amount in his palm, he began to run it through my hair, gently combing his fingers through the tangles. As he did so, he kept his eyes on mine. His movements began to slow before he lowered his lips to mine.

            Unlike last night, his kiss was slow and tender. It seemed as if it was almost an… apology? He took my lips in long, unhurried kisses; his fingers smoothed through my hair, rinsing the soap from the strands. His tongue brushed over my lips as he seemed to capture every single drop of water before it had time to land on my lips.

            He finally parted from my lips before positioning me until my back was turned towards him. I peeked over my shoulder and found him lathering soap onto his hands. I quickly turned back around as he placed the soap back down. A jolt racked through my body as his hands began to move across my shoulders. The urge to hide myself away from him was strong, but at this point, what would be the point? Instead, I closed my eyes and allowed myself to enjoy this situation because God only knows that it could very well be the last.

            I couldn’t help but relax into his hold as his hands massaged my shoulders. His hands then spread the soap down my back, over my rear (his hands seemed to linger there), and finally down my legs. He rose back to his full height before getting more soap.

            John moved me to where my back was pressed against his chest. With my eyes closed, I was very aware of his broad, warm chest flushed against me. His hands slid from my shoulders to my neck before gliding down my chest. He paused over my breasts, allowing himself to cup both of them in the palms of his hands. The simple action forced my eyes open as I fought back a gasp. John began to knead the sensitive flesh, his thumbs flicking over the swollen buds, but I managed to hold back a moan.

            John didn’t let my stubbornness stop him, for his hands continued on their journey. His fingertips glided over my ribs, across my stomach, and over my hips before inching lower. Coming to a stop, his fingers splayed over my pelvis. His thumb brushed over the sensitive flesh before he slipped a single finger within me.

            I instantly tensed against him, clamping my thighs together in the process. He must have foreseen my resistance, for he had already wedged his knee between my legs to hinder the movement. He added another finger as he began to move them. That strange sensation I had felt last night was coming back, originating in the pit of my stomach. My head lolled against his shoulder, baring my neck. He took advantage of the position and lowered his lips to the crook of my neck. His beard tickled my skin as my breathing began to hitch. That gasp was tempted to escape, but I pressed my lips together in order to muffle it. Seeming unsatisfied with my stubbornness, John shoved a third finger inside me as he bit down on the flesh of my neck.

            That cry finally escaped, and I felt his lips tip up into a smirk against my neck. I felt his chuckle rumble through me as he withdrew his fingers, forcing a sound of protest from me.

            “You ass,” I breathed through clenched teeth. I lowered my hands to palm his crotch, cutting his chuckle off as he sucked in a breath. I smirked at the power that I held as I began to move my hand. It was a nice change from the usual control he held over me. “Who’s laughing now?”

            A grow-like scoff left his lips before he pressed me against the stone wall. His hands encircled my wrists, pinning my hands on the wall. Before I could react, I was taken off guard as he joined us in one swift movement. My fingers curled against the wall as a moan left me. His warm breath ghosted over my neck before he nipped at the skin once more.

He withdrew for a split second to spin me around to face him before slamming us back together. His hands clasped the backs of my thighs as he lifted me up; in turn, I wrapped my legs around his waist, allowing for him to sink deeper.

            I tugged at his hair while his fingers bruisingly dug into my skin. Our lips locked before his tongue darted between my lips, fighting for dominance with my own tongue. I cupped his face as I took his bottom lip between my teeth, gently tugging at it. In response, his thrusts became relentless; the stones dug into my back as I was inched along the wall with every forceful thrust.

            This wasn’t like last night, for it was purely raw, carnal desire. Yet, there was a strange intimate passion in the feverous act. And that’s when I realized that this is us – chaotic and destructive. Both were two complicated forces on their own; thrown together, all bets were off.

            I thought about the fact that when this was all over, John would probably leave me again. So, in a sense, this was a sort of parting gift. I wanted him to stop messing with my mind, for I held myself in high respects. At the moment, however, I decided that I would take what I could get.  

            The notion passed over me before I felt as if I was being set on fire from the inside. My lips parted in a silent cry as my arms tightened around his neck. “John,” I gasped, clutching onto him. He continued to thrust within me as the sensation flew over us. His head fell against my chest as his movements began to slow. He murmured my name once, muffling it in the crook of my neck. He finally lowered me to my feet, but he didn’t let go; I was thankful because I didn’t trust my legs just yet.

            I slowly looked up at him; my fingers splayed against his chest before inching up to stoke his beard. I tried to memorize every feature: his high cheekbones, his oval-shaped face, his pointed chin, and his unforgettable piercing eyes. His dark brown eyes watched me, and it seemed for a moment that we were having a silent conversation between our labored breaths. A sense of understanding was exchanged, but no words were needed. In that intimate moment, a crazy admission was on the tip of my tongue, but I mentally shook myself before it left my lips.

            His lips descended onto mine as he cupped my face in those rough hands of his. I was thankful for the stream of water, for a single tear slithered down my cheek as I realized that it would be hell to let him go this time. My heart sank in my chest because I knew that like all dreams, this one couldn’t last.

 

            “Are you going to leave me here?” I inquired as I watched John button up his shirt from my reclined position on the bed.

            He tucked the gun that the Bowery King had given him in the waistband of his pants. “No. I’m still not certain about the security. Besides, you’ll just follow me anyway,” he justified himself as he sent me a pointed look. I couldn’t help but smile as I noticed him tucking the pocket watch into his shirt pocket. He then handed me the garment bag with my dress in it. At this point, I wasn’t even going to ask how it got here.

            “You’ve finally learned,” I congratulated before moving to change into the dress.

            Angelo had designed the dress to be rather simple compared to its predecessor. It was a midnight blue color that stopped just below my knees. The neckline was sweetheart, but there was a mesh design beneath it. Like the previous dress, the support was built in with the “cutting edge” bladed wires. From my own closet, I managed to dig out a pair of silver flats. I then resorted to clipping my hair up, and I topped it all off with a pair of earrings with tiny blue stones in them.

            John snuck us underground again, using the map that Earl had given him to guide our way. When we surfaced through a vent, we found ourselves in a sort of storage room. John helped me stand before peeking through the door.

            “The usual? Pretend I’m an avid art nerd and stay out of the way?” I asked.

            In his mode, he didn’t look over at me. “Blend in. Low profile.”

            I nodded before moving to leave the room. Before I could get through the door, John seized my wrist. Swinging my gaze up to him, I briefly saw his mask slip, but it was back on as soon as I blinked. “Be careful,” he told me.

            I swallowed before jutting a nod, forcing my eyes from him. “You, too.” With that, I left.

            The room seemed more like a ballroom than a museum. Its glass ceiling allowed for some of the moonlight to pour in; the rest of the room was illuminated by the grand chandelier. People were dispersed throughout the room, each holding a glass of Champaign and dressed as if they were about to go to the Oscars.

            In an attempt to blend in and to ease my nerves, I scoped out the table lined with Champaign glasses. I briefly took note of the quartet that played away before I snatched one of the glasses up. I took a single sip as I raked my eyes over the area. Anticipation thrummed through me, for there was no telling when and where John might burst in. 

            Just as I turned to walk off, I found myself face to face with Santino D’Antonio. He had two women – one on each arm – clad in red dresses. I recognized him from the pictures in the Bowery King’s office. The similarities between him and his sister were more prominent in person.

            His lips tipped up into an amused grin as his green eyes raked over me. “To think I only came over here for a glass of Champaign,” he lilted, taking one of the glasses. He sent me a look that told me not to go anywhere before he turned to the attentive crowd that had gathered.

            “I want to thank you all for coming.” He raised his glass. “To the future of the High Table and to the memory of my sister.” Several glasses raised in the air as admiring gazes rose to Santino. I had to fight the urge to roll my eyes. _If only they knew_.

            He dismissed the two women to join the partygoers before turning his attention back to me. For some reason, I was reminded of Iosef. Santino had the same cowardice, spoiled air to him.

            “I apologize for having to resort to destroying your business, Miss. Priar – if that’s even your name.” He took a drink, watching me over the rim of his glass. “As you know, John can be a little stubborn in his ways. You were the last… _push_ – shall I say? – to bring back the infamous boogeyman of old. It was nothing personal; I assure you.”

            “It seems to be personal to John,” I shot back.

            He cracked a grin. “Oh, he acts as if he loathes it. The truth is, Miss. Priar, it excites him to see the light leave his victim’s eyes.” He took my hand in his, tracing his thumb over my wrist. “There’s only one other sensation that can compare. I’d be more than willing to personally give you a demonstration.”

            Scowling at his words, I snatched my hand from him as I shot him a look of disgust. “Sorry, I’m not one for cowards that drag people in to do their dirty work.”

            His green eyes darkened with anger, and his lips parted to say something; however, something behind me caught his eye. I glanced over my shoulder to find that the crowd had parted like the Red Sea, revealing a livid-pissed John Wick. His murderous gaze was locked on Santino, and Santino’s face paled.

            There was a split moment where one could hear a pen drop. However, it was diminished as John whipped out his gun and fired several rounds off. Santino shot off like a jackrabbit, pulling me with him in the process as a bullet whizzed by his head.

            As we escaped from the room, I could hear screams and gunshots echo from the party. Santino made a call, informing, “He’s here,” before hanging up. I fought against him as he pulled me along, but his grip was iron tight, and he sent me a threatening look.

No matter how far we went, it seemed that John was only a room behind us. Santino was practically running through the rooms as he pulled me on. While he was running away, his men were running to try and face John. Little did they know that their attempts would be futile. Even with that knowledge, I still worried about whether John was ok.

Santino abandoned the single guard that had been following us, trading him out for two bigger men. The previously abandoned guard was sent to his death while Santino continued to run away. We finally came to an exhibit entitled _Reflections of the Soul._ Santino split up from his guards and dragged me through the maze of mirrors. Finally satisfied with the position, he settled himself.

Seeing as we were alone, I watched him as he kept glancing around for John. Slowly, I reached for one of the knives in the dress’s support.        Taking advantage of his distracted state, I lashed out, burying the knife in his shoulder. He snarled as his hand shot up to snatch it out. I started to run, but he quickly apprehended me, grabbing my hair and yanking out the clip to pin me back to him. I felt the cool metal of a pistol press against the side of my temple as his ragged breathing sounded in my ear.

“You better be worth something to John, for you are to be my leverage against him.”

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

            “Welcome to the Reflections of the Soul,” the automated voice greeted as I entered the exhibit. “… self images. We hope that you’ll have a new understanding of nature and the nature of self.”

            I pushed through the mirrors, gun poised to shoot at anything that moved. As I passed one set of mirrors, I heard Santino’s voice echo throughout the room.

            “ _Mio Dio_ , John. _Mio Dio._ You don’t get it.”

            “You wanted me back; I’m back,” I called back, growing angrier by the second.

“The Marker is complete! Do you know what will happen if you kill me? Killing me,” he scoffed, “will not rid you of the contract.”

I didn’t reply. Instead, I kept advancing, trying to pinpoint the origin of where his voice was coming from.

“I think you’re addicted to it – the vengeance. Look at you, John. No wife, no life… no home. Vengeance: it’s all you have.” I heard his chuckle reverberate. “How does it feel, John? To have everything taken from you?” He paused, and I spotted his reflection. China was locked in his arms, struggling against his hold as he pressed his gun against her head. “What’s one more loss?”

In an act of pure rage, I fired my gun at his reflection. He moved with every shot I fired before landing right before me with China in his grasp. The gun was out of bullets, and I frustratingly threw it to the ground as Santino escaped with her once more.

I started after him, but one of his men came out of nowhere. I struggled with him for some time before I managed to grasp his gun from his holster. I shot him in the hip before firing a bullet off into his head. Continuing on, I stopped as I used a mirror to catch sight of another man. Smashing through the glass, I took him off guard and shot him.

I moved on to descend a flight of glass steps. It wasn’t long before another one of the goons charged towards me. We tussled beneath the steps, and I caught sight of another man standing on the stairs; his gun was raised to shoot me.

Wrapping my legs around the previous man’s neck, I held him still while I shot the man on the stairs. I pointed the gun to the other and pulled the trigger, releasing him as he slouched in my hold. Sensing that I was going to lose Santino, I began to sprint through the mirrored doors.

Upon entering through one of them, I barely ducked the blade that Santino’s bodyguard swung out at me. We fought for the upper hand. Due to her shorter height, she was able to get in lower blows. However, I finally managed to throw her against one of the mirrored doors. She was quick to her feet, her blade slicing through the air. I caught her arm and broke it, grasping her blade and wedging it through her palm. Her eyes widened as I shoved the blade into her chest just below her left lung.

Her blue eyes gazed up at me with astonished pain as I lowered her to the ground. She wasn’t worth a bullet, for she would bleed out. I patted her down, scoring a gun. I frowned when I found that it was out of ammo; consequently, I searched her again before finding a mag.

As I rose to walk off, I caught her signing, **“Be seeing you.”**

**“Sure** , **”** I signed back before stalking off.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

            Santino continued to drag me through the streets of New York before we came to the Continental. He trudged towards the desk with me in tow as he took out his earpiece.

            “Good evening,” he greeted Charon, straining to keep his composure.

            Charon’s eyes darted towards me for a split second before returning to Santino.

            “Is the manager in?”

            “The manager is always in.”

            With that, Santino pulled me into the lounge. He stopped at the top of the stairs, eyes darting to Winston who was leisurely enjoying his afternoon with some of his readings.

            “Winston,” Santino called.

            Winston glanced up over his glasses. “Mr. D’Antonio. Your evening has been colorful, I see,” he murmured as we came towards him. “Seeking safe harbor, I presume,” he added with a smug smirk.

            “I want his membership revoked now,” Santino commanded, placing his hands on his hips.

            “In the eyes of this institution, he has breached no legalities.”

            “Then you know I have the right to demand-”

            “Nothing,” Winston interrupted with a growl, tugging off his glasses. “You demand nothing of me, Mr. D’Antonio. This kingdom is mine and mine alone.”

            “Right,” Santino scoffed. “Then enjoy your kingdom, Winston, while you still can,” he murmured before stomping off with me.

            “And you, it’s privileges, sir,” Winston called after him.

            Santino sat down at one of the tables, forcing me to sit in the seat directly next to him. When I say directly beside him, I mean our thighs were touching. I cringed away from him as he ordered a meal for himself.

            “You should have splurged,” I chastised as the waiter left.

            “What do you mean?”

            “I mean that more than likely this is going to be your last meal. You should have splurged,” I repeated.

            He smirked. “Your faith in John is amusing. He can’t touch me on these grounds. It’s sacred in our world.”

            I pressed my lips together. “You brought this on yourself. You should have left well enough alone.”

            He didn’t reply. Instead, he reached for his gun, cocking it as he pointed it towards my head. “Well then. Why don’t I just take you with me? You’re not a member; therefore, there would be no penalties on my head.” He snickered. “John would definitely be relieved of babysitting you.”

            I swallowed, refusing to let him know that the statement bothered me. Instead, I squared my shoulders and lifted my head defiantly. “Are you willing to bet your life on it? Like you said, Mr. D’Antonio. Leverage.”

            “Your father always doted on John, too.” His lips tipped into a scowl at my words, and he finally tucked his gun back in his pants as the waiter brought him his plate and a glass of wine. He lifted the glass to his lips before taking a strong pull of it. His eyes darted towards the stairs as he slowly lowered his glass. Following his gaze, I found John trudging down the stairs.

            He came to the bottom of the stairs, gun clenched tightly in his hand. He slowly stalked forth, and the room became completely silent. As Santino lifted a piece of meat to his lips, John came to a stop in front of the table. His dark eyes were pinned on Santino as he watched him eat the meat.

            “Duck fat. Makes all the difference.”

            Winston slowly moved behind John. “Jonathan,” he called in a wary voice.

            “Have you seen the menu here? A lot of options,” Santino continued.

            John took a single step forward, and Winston reached out a hand to try and stop him from going any farther. “Jonathan, listen to me.”

            John ignored him, eyes narrowing on Santino. “A man can stay here for a long time and never eat the same meal twice.” Santino’s hand brushed a strand of hair from my face before he let his hand fall to squeeze my thigh as he murmured, “And the service is undeniable.”

            John’s face remained neutral as he stared at Santino. I wished I knew what was going through his mind, but with his mask in place, there was no way. Yet, I thought I could make out a string becoming tighter and tighter. It wouldn’t be long before it snapped. My eyes lifted, silently begging for him to look at me, but he wouldn’t.

            “Jonathan, just walk away,” Winston advised.

            I had begged that of him once before. I knew better than anyone, though, that John couldn’t. He wasn’t wired that way

            Santino had a smug look on his face. “Yeah, Jonathan. Walk-”

            _Pow_. The gunshot screamed in my ears before blood splattered across my cheek. I felt shell shocked as I blinked once. My eyes lowered to the dead Santino D’Antonio as he slouched in his seat next to me. My eyes then swung up to John as he lowered the gun. _Predictably unpredictable._

            Winston’s face mirrored mine as he murmured, “What have you done?”

            John dropped his gun down onto the table, eyes never leaving Santino’s dead body. “Finished it.” He then moves to take my hand in his before dragging me out of the room.

            When we came into the lobby, I found that it was dreadfully silent. It seemed as if the entire hotel already knew of the sin John had previously committed. Charon stood with perfect posture by his desk while John’s dog sat beside his feet.

            “How was he?” John asked.

            “He was a good dog. I have enjoyed his company.” Charon held out my car keys. “And your keys, sir.”

            John accepted the keys before bending down slightly to pat the dog’s head. He finally straightened to his full height. With my hand still in his, he murmured, “Let’s go home.”

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

            The rain soaked my suit as I found myself stumbling through the remains of my house. The house had been stripped to its skeleton. All that was left had either been reduced to ash or a item that vaguely resembled what it once had been.

            I found myself digging through the ashes on the floor, not caring at all as the mud soaked through my pant legs. Upon sweeping through the ashes, I found a silver bracelet with daisy charms on it. My lips parted as I held the objects between my fingertips before clutching it to my chest. It was from a time when things were simpler.

            I stumbled to the soaked white armchair that had streaks of black on it from the fire. The dog took its place by my feet, releasing a low whine as it looked up at me. I placed the object in my pants’ pocket before glancing up at China. I had almost forgotten she was here, for she had been silently watching the scene.

            Her light brown eyes were filled with sadness and pity as she looked upon me. I didn’t want that from her, but it couldn’t be helped; that was her nature. I peered up at her, my eyes shielded by strands of my hair.

            “You’re still here,” I noted to myself.

            She took it as an offense. Her eyes fell as her lips parted, but she quickly put on an act to hide it from me – to hide the pain. _The things I put you through_.

            “Do you want me to go?” she asked.

            Honestly? No. Never. I never wanted her to leave. Everything was already falling apart, and I was standing slap-dab in the middle of it all. Then there was her. She was standing on the other side of it all, arms reaching out to me. It seemed I could never reach her, though.

            “You should,” I replied instead. “You should walk away.”

            There was silence, and I watched as her face morphed between sadness and anger. “Like you walked away, John?” she asked, throwing my actions back at me. She shook her head as she pinched the bridge of her nose. “You’re such a fool, John.” She released a humorless laugh. “Guess I am, too, for caring about you,” she murmured to herself.

            I listened to her speak. If only she knew, but I couldn’t tell her. I had just signed my death contract. There was no way I could drag her back into this. She needed to move on, and this time I needed to let her.

            “If you knew what was good for you, you wouldn’t. You would walk away,” I murmured.

            ‘Why, John? What do you think it could possibly accomplish? When has letting me go ever solved anything?”  Her voice rose with each syllable she uttered.

            I slid my eyes closed. “China, please,” I begged in a hoarse tone.

            “What? Was I just a good fuck for you?! Did it really not mean anything to you? You sure are sending me some mixed signals. So, tell me why, John!” she demanded, rage evident in her voice.

            My eyes snapped open as I moved to my feet. In a blink of an eye, I towered before her, gripping her by her shoulders. Her eyes reflected fear as she took in my intense countenance with wide eyes. Damn her for her stubbornness, and damn me for pushing her towards it. Nevertheless, she swallowed her terror, looking up at me with those watery eyes that could tear out my very soul. “Why?” she whispered, pain evident in her tone.

My grip tightened on her shoulders, wanting to punish her for making me admit those emotions that I had tried so long to bury. “Because I can’t lose you,” I gritted out.

Her eyes slid close as she seemed to savor my words. “Then don’t,” she whispered. Her eyes opened, and a single tear fell freely – although, it could have been mistaken for a drop of rain. “It goes both ways, John. I can’t lose you, either; I can’t let you go again. I won’t,” she said.

            “But you should,” I countered. “Don’t you see what I do to you?” My grip loosened on her shoulders as I gently jerked her to try to shake some sense into her. “Your future will never be assured, China. I can’t give you what you want.”

            “But, I’ll have you,” she shot back.

            I shook my head, growing frustrated at both of us. “I can’t give you a big, happy family, China. You’ll never have that with me.”

            “Will you stop trying to push me away?” she exasperatedly asked with a small smile. Tears swelled in the corners of her eyes. “Don’t _you_ see, John? I never asked for any of that.”

            I looked into her eyes. “But that’s what you deserve,” I said quietly.

            “I don’t need any of that. As long as I have you,” she admitted as her eyes searched my face. She reached up to cup my face, her thumb brushing over my beard. “No more running away, John,” she pleaded.

            I could resist her no longer as I lowered my lips to capture hers. It seemed like hours as I felt myself slipping away, losing myself in her. I wanted to forget everything and just stay with her in this moment.

We slowly parted from one another. Sinking into her hold, I pulled her to me, grasping her tightly in my arms as if she would slip away at any moment. She matched my actions, holding on to me just as tightly.

            Through my haze, I heard the pup bark as someone cleared his throat. Still holding China in my protective hold, I turned to find Charon holding an umbrella. He inclined his head to both of us. I knew that it was time to face my fate.

            “Mr. Wick. If you would be so inclined.”


	10. Day Seven:

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! This is the last update for this installment, and I am honestly quite sad and relieved. My gosh! I'm still reeling about how much you guys have responded to this fanfiction. Thank you all! In regards to the third installment, I am planning a third book. I am planning on continuing once the third movie comes out. Hopefully, we won't have to wait forever. I hope to see you guys in the next book! Thank you!  
>  Song for this chapter is "Plastic Heart" off the soundtrack: "You hunt me like your last goodbye; oh fallen angel of the night."

            John and I ultimately parted ways. He had given me an address to go to before hesitantly departing with Charon. As I drove to the address, my mind was focused on John. On one hand, I was scared to death; after all, he did break one of the most sacred rules of the Continental. There was no telling what he would be facing. On the other hand, I knew John was more than capable of taking care of himself. The reasoning did nothing to alleviate my apprehensions.

            I pulled in to a cobblestone driveway in front of a garage-like building. Putting the car in park, I exited the car before cautiously entering the building.

            I had expected that John had sent me to one of his safe houses. Upon entering, however, the smell of tire rubber and oil invaded my senses. I knew that smell. Cars, car parts, and tool shelves lined the majority of the building. My eyes ventured on to find a figure bent over a car, tinkering with the engine. I had seen that car before, too. It was John’s mustang. I had also seen that leather jacket before, but it couldn’t be…

            “May I help you?” the man asked in an accent as he turned to glance up at me.

            We both froze when our eyes landed on one another. He was absentmindedly wiping his hands on an oil rag as he took in my presence. I took in his slicked back hair and tan skin before breathing, “Aurelio.”

            “Hey, China,” he said with a small smile.

            Before he had finished his greeting, I had already advanced towards him, throwing my arms around his neck. He was taken off guard by my embrace, but he finally wrapped his arms around my waist and returned the hug. His cologne and the faint trace of cigarette smoke greeted my nose, but I found the scent rather comforting. It was Aurelio - someone familiar besides John.

            “I thought you were dead,” I whispered.

            With a small smirk, he pulled back. “We have a lot to talk about.”

            We went to take a seat at his desk. He retrieved two glasses and began pouring me a glass of what seemed to be Scotch. He instantly began to work on his drink, but I left mine untouched. He set his glass down and turned his eyes back up to me.

            “How are you alive?”

            He flashed a grin. “Fortunately,” he began, tugging at his shirt to reveal a bullet hole scar just above his left breast, “Ms. Perkins was a bad shot.”

            “Was?” I caught his use of past tense.

            “Yeah. She’s no longer around,” he said as if it was obvious as he poured himself another drink. “What? Did John not tell you?”

            I shook my head. “No, he didn’t.

            His brows knitted up in confusion. “That’s strange.”

            “What is?”

            “I thought he would have told you everything. I thought you knew,” he admitted, rubbing his shaven face.

            “Knew what?”

            “About a year ago, John found me. At the time, I was changing my shop’s location because I didn’t want to take any chances after Perkins tried to kill me, especially after I received news that John had finished off the Tarasovs. He came in trying to locate his car… and you.”

            I blinked, cocking my head to the side. “What?”

            “Yeah. From what I gathered, he's been keeping tabs on you for the past year.”

            Realization dawned on me as I took in his words. John had been checking on me all this time. That’s how he knew where my shop was; that’s how he knew where I lived.

            I recalled those fragmented memories that I had spent a year believing were only dreams. “ _You’re going to start over. You’re going to be happy. But, I will never be able to be a part of that. But, I will always be near… watching over you_.” Everything John had said made sense now - all those words he said. All the puzzle pieces clicked into place. It wasn’t a dream. It was a memory, and John had been determined to keep it that way so that I would have let him go.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

            The car ride was shorter than expected, or maybe it was just my imagination. Charon pulled up to a park entrance before I exited the car with the dog. Charon held out his hand for me to shake, saying, “It’s been a pleasure, Mr. Wick.” Extending his hand towards the entrance to the park, he said, “He’s waiting for you.”

And just like that, reality hit me hard and fast. I would have to deal with my consequences. With an incline of my head, I began down the two flights of stairs before joining Winston at the water fountain in the center of the park. Winston was staring at the passing people before turning his gaze on me as I approached.

“Jonathan,” he murmured in greeting.

“Winston.” I hesitated before asking, “What am I looking at?”

“The contract has gone international, and the High Table and Gomorrah have doubled the offer. What did you expect?” He sent me a scolding look.

“And the Continental?”

“You killed on company grounds. You leave me with no choice,” he explained in an exasperated tone.

“So, why am I not dead yet?”

“Because I deemed it not to be.” His eyes flicked to a figure in the distance before he gave a nod of his head. The man spoke into a cell phone before everyone in the park froze, and I suddenly became the center of attention. I briefly noted that I was weaponless, but it wouldn’t matter. If I truly had to fight, I would find a way. With another incline of his head, Winston sent the people back on their way.

He glanced down at his watch before releasing a sigh. “You have one hour. I can’t delay it any longer. You might need this,” he murmured before presenting me with a Marker.

I didn’t react at first, but I finally accepted the Marker, running my thumb along the trinket before pocketing it. I finally turned my gaze up to him. “Winston, whoever comes… tell them. I’ll kill them; I’ll them all,” I warned in all sincerity.

Winston flashed a grin. “Of course you will.” There was a moment of silent understanding before he inclined his head. “Jonathan.”

“Winston.” I turned to leave with the pup following behind me.

As I walked away, I felt that my fate had been sealed. I knew at this very moment that Winston was making the call. I could feel the clock ticking down. It wouldn’t be long now.

I passed the entrance of the park, and I realized that everyone was absorbed as his or her phone went off. All of them glanced down at their phones before snapping their gazes to me. Realizing that I didn’t have much time, I broke out into a full sprint. I had to make it before it was too late. I had to make it… to her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

            We had just finished catching up about the past year. Aurelio had offered his condolences for my father’s death. I had thanked him, but a round of silence had filled the air for some time afterwards.

            “You and John. What’s going on there?” Aurelio murmured in an attempt to break the silence as he took a pull of his drink.

            "Would you believe me if I told you it was complicated?"

            Aurelio coughed out a laugh. "If that's the case, then I'd say that he's rather fond of you. John doesn't do complicated."

            I lowered my eyes to the woodened desk, taking interest in my nails.  I thought back to my confession from only moments ago. I’d like to believe that it’s so, but with everything going on, I didn’t know. “With John, nothing is ever certain,” I murmured as my mind drifted to his words. “ _I can’t lose you_.”

            Aurelio’s phone buzzed as soon as I recalled the statement. He unlocked his phone and read the text before his lips pressed into a thin line. “Especially now,” he uttered before showing me the phone’s screen.

            My countenance blanched as I read the message. The offer was substantial, and the target was stated in big bold letters **. _John Wick_** _. So_ , Winston really did it. He had cast out his favorite angel – the Angel of Death.

            “I – I have to go,” I stuttered out as I scrambled to my feet.

            “China-” Aurelio moved to try to stop me, but I was already at the door.

            I hurried into my Ford Explorer and burned rubber to get out of the driveway, kicking up heaps of stone and dust as I did so. I sped down the road, pushing the Explorer pass its limits. It roared as if at any moment it was about to give up, but I kept on. I didn’t know how, but I had a feeling of where John might be. I only prayed that I was right.

            The Explorer swerved down the path to my house. Upon reaching the steps, I jumped out of my car and dashed to the front door, nearly tripping over my own two feet. Throwing the door open, I burst inside the house, scanning the area.

            “John!” I called. No answer.

            I searched the rest of the house, calling his name. There was never a reply. I finally jogged back down the stairs to the front door to get back into my car, for I had resorted to getting a full-on search party of one out on him.

            Just as I reached the steps of my porch, I was momentarily blinded by the rising sun. I blinked twice to adjust to the lighting and lifted my hand to shield my eyes. When my eyes focused, I saw John standing beside my car. His chest rose rapidly as he seemed to be trying to catch his breath. The dog beside his feet had his tongue sticking out as he panted.

            My eyes returned to John, and I realized he didn’t have much time to waste. The fact that he came back perplexed me, for I was already prepared to accept that he wasn’t going to return even after all we had said and done.

            I stumbled down the stairs, coming closer to John. With each step, my relief was increasing as I was assured that he was actually here. When I was only an arm’s length away from him, I stopped. We wordlessly held each other’s gaze. He then slowly broke our stare-down as he extended his hand towards me, palm-side facing up. A silent request.

            The man, the myth, the legend… the boogey man. All those names have described him, but as he looked at me, I noticed a sense of… vulnerability behind the wild, calm composure. It seemed that a small light of hope flickered within his eyes as he watched me, awaiting my response. His eyes held a sense of doubt, that flicker slowly diminishing as if he believed I would reject him. What a fool. Does he still not understand? I can never deny him – the fallen angel.

            I placed my hand in his, and he clasped it as if he was afraid I would slip away at any moment. I wasn’t going anywhere; he was stuck with me.

            I could feel that foreboding again. It seemed to pass between our joined hands, and I knew he felt it too. I would be lying if I said I wasn't afraid. However, I knew that as long as I had John, I was ready to face whatever the world had to throw at us.  


End file.
